


How Did I End Up Here?

by ProbablytherealDeaththeKid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexia?????, Child Abuse, Depression, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2020-01-15 06:26:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 48,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18493255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProbablytherealDeaththeKid/pseuds/ProbablytherealDeaththeKid
Summary: We all know the story of Harry Potter. Of how he survived an attack by the most feared dark wizard of the age, and how he defeated that wizard with the help of his friends. He had many enemies, and all of them had different reasons for hating him, and Draco Malfoy was one of those enemies. Why did he hate Harry Potter, really? Why did he try to kill his Headmaster, really? What was he really thinking?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Archive of Our Own people! I am new to this site, and I'm posting the first fanfiction that I have ever written here. The best news is that I have already completed this long fanfic. It's around 50 chapters, and because it's already written, expect weekly updates! This entire fanfiction is basically a remake of the entire series from Draco Malfoy's first-person point of view. It is definitely not as long, and I gloss over the first five films (1-4 are covered in this chapter, actually). The main focus is The Half-Blood Prince and The Deathly Hallows. It is also more film than book-based because I personally think that the films did a better job at showcasing Draco, but the books are still, over-all, better than the films, but because it's film-based, there are going to be scenes from the films rewritten for Draco's point of view, though that is not the entire fic. For future, I don't think I wrote Bellatrix's character well, so...yeah. I hope you enjoy itI
> 
> Copyright stuff: Exact quotes from the films are used. Full credit for those quotes is given to Warner Brothers Studios and JK Rowling.
> 
> There are two OC's: a House Elf named Loft, and a witch named Anthea Baker, though they don't come in till later.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: I really don't want this to hit too close to home for people or make anyone uncomfortable, so if you don't think you can handle some of this stuff, do not read. Depression (suicidal thoughts included). Anorexia????? (It's more so that Draco forgets or is too stressed to eat than anorexia, but I thought I should put it on here just in case). PTSD manifesting in the form of nightmares and a hand tremor. Mild psychological and physical torture (The psychological stuff is brief and only pops up once. The physical stuff is in the form of a Cruciatus Curse, and there's a little blood. This curse is also used on animals once). Father and son abuse (This happens around Chapter Twenty). If you guys think you can survive all that, I hope you enjoy!

I blasted through the door of the men's lavatory, tore off my suffocating vest and threw it onto the damp ground. I bent over the sink, staring at my pale face in the mirror.

How did I end up here?

My parents' lives were never as good as they could be, but I had always hoped that it would improve. With Potter planning on fighting Voldemort from our First Year, I hoped that my mother and father would finally gain control over their own paths again.

But with that serpent-like dark wizard being back in flesh and bone...there was even less of a chance.

My father always told me of how great Voldemort was. He put me to bed with tales of his "greatness" since before I could speak. I never told my father, but the stories of Voldemort had frightened me to the point where I had nightmares of him coming after us, and I cried in the middle of the night. I couldn't cry in the presence of my father. He'd never hit me. He was harsh at times, but he would never hit me or my mother, though he did other things that made him equally as intimidating when I showed anything but "proper behavior".

But when I turned eleven, Father changed his stories. He told me how Voldemort had disappeared because of a boy named Harry Potter.

I suppose my father's hatred for him is where my contempt for Potter began. I tried offering my friendship to Harry when we first met five years ago. I was sure that he couldn't be all bad. If Potter could defeat such a terrifying wizard like Voldemort as an infant, what would he be able to do once he was trained in magic? I wanted for us to be allies, then, maybe, my family would be more accepting of him. It wasn't likely that they would end their allegiance to Voldemort, but Harry might have been persuaded to be an ally to the Dark Lord. Then neither of them would be destroyed.

But when Potter refused me, everything my father said came flooding back. I saw nothing but the bad in him, noticing only his failures, and the more years that went by, the more Harry proved my father right.

Potter's only goal was to destroy the most powerful wizard to ever exist, but he had no plan. He didn't care about the destruction he left in his wake. That young Weasley girl was hurt because of Potter. My father told me the story of how she got a hold of the journal after everything was resolved. Harry found the journal and slipped it into her cauldron at the book shop. Potter knew that it was connected to Voldemort somehow and gave it to the easiest target he could spot. He thought that it would lead to Voldemort's defeat, and that's all well and good, but that little redhead nearly died. Potter was lucky that she didn't end up like Moaning Myrtle. Goyle was right that year when he said that Potter was the worst thing to happen to this school since Dumbledore.

During our Third Year, Potter brought those Dementors to the school. If the rumors could be believed, Sirius Black was heard muttering Potter's name in the middle of the night. Then he escaped, and the Dementors appeared. Those dark creatures affected everyone in the school, so I didn't think that Harry being adversely affected by the Dementor's presence was funny. They were terrifying, and all of us in my train compartment froze when they floated by our door. There was this unnatural cold and fear inside of me that penetrated so deep that, admittedly, I curled up and cowered in the corner. The only time I had ever felt something else like that was when I was little and my father told me Voldemort's stories of destruction. A fear like that should not be made fun of, but Crabbe and Goyle thought that that Potter passing out was the most hilarious thing to have ever happened. They laughed about it for the rest of the train ride to Hogwarts and started planning pranks to pull on him. I managed to talk the two out of most of them by saying that we would get caught, and Crabbe and Goyle were such dimwits that they fell for it. My father has such an influence on the school, that, even if we did pull those pranks on Potter and got caught, getting in trouble would have been the least likely scenario.

I had to keep up some appearances, though. My family's reputation was being slowly tarnished by the rise of Voldemort, but when I was thirteen, if my father had heard of me letting our standing in the community, even a little…So I pretended that the Hippogryph nearly took my arm off when it swiped at me and tore my sleeve during Hagrid's class. There was some real blood, but who had ever heard of a Malfoy being taken down by a minor scratch?

It was obvious that Harry and his friends thought I was doing it for attention, but it was just the opposite. I diverted the attention of my father away from myself and onto Hagrid with my little act, but it also earned me the attention of my entire class. I didn't have my father watching my every move, which was all that mattered to me at the time, but then Lupin brought that boggart into class, and I was terrified of what I might see. I didn't know if I would see my father or the picture of Voldemort my youthful imagination had conjured up. I played it off to my friends by making fun of the spell used to defeat the boggart, but I almost went weak with relief when I was able to avoid facing the thing.

My life went on normally after that. I went back to being the "Malfoy of Hogwarts". I had it perfect. Everyone in Slytherin loved me, and everyone in Gryffindor hated me, especially Harry and his two friends.

Fine.

I wanted Potter keeping as much distance from me as possible. The farther away he was from me, the less likely he would hurt my family when he faced the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. It seemed like those close to him always ended up hurt or in trouble. Weasley getting injured our First Year, his sister Second Year and his godfather our Third Year.

But the entire Wizarding World changed the year Dumbledore announced the Tri-Wizard Tournament. The Dark Mark appeared in the sky at the Quidditch match. Potter somehow managed to get his name into the Goblet of Fire. Snape and the Durmstrang headmaster snuck off to have loud conversations.

Nothing added up.

And Harry coming back from the Maze with Cedric's dead body, shouting that Voldemort was back, made my heart drop into my churning stomach.

He couldn't be back. My father never said that the Dark Lord had died, but why else would he disappear for so long? Why wouldn't he show himself to his loyal followers? I had believed that he was dead, but I couldn't have been more wrong.

The instant I stepped off the train for summer vacation that year, my father caught me by the arm and dragged me away. He gripped me so hard that my arm was tattooed with a hand-shaped bruise for a week. All the while, Potter celebrated his victory over the Tournament and gave away his winnings to those redheaded twins.

Scar Head was swept away by the Weasleys, and I was delivered to our manor where You-Know-Who waited.

He stood in our dining room in thin black robes, his thick snake coiling around his feet. "Thank you, Lucius," he hissed in his breathy voice.

My father lowered his head in a bow and left the room. I gazed after him, panicked. He looked at me sternly before closing the door behind him, telling me not to screw this up for us.

"Draco," his wheezing voice called, sending a chill to my bones.

I slowly turned towards his pale, flattened face as he gestured for me to sit down at the dining table.

I took a shaky breath, trying to calm my trembling nerves, but despite my fear, I moved towards the long table and took a seat.

The Dark Lord followed me, his black robes flowing behind him, as if it was blown by an unfelt wind, and took a chair near me at the side of the table. "Your family has the opportunity to take part in a wonderful event," he breathed. "Your parents have already agreed to be a part of it, and they hope for you to agree as well. You will be an integral part of what I have planned." He paused and stared at me through his slitted eyes, as if waiting for me to say something, but I froze, unsure of what to say, or if I was supposed to say anything at all. It took everything in me to keep the look of terror off of my face.

Voldemort's large pet snake slithered up to me and ran itself along my shoe. It seemed like it was threatening me, trying to coerce me into agreement, but what would I be agreeing to?

"How could I help…. exactly?" my voice cracking slightly as I glanced down at the dangerous beast wrapping itself around my ankle.

"You are close with Harry Potter," he wheezed, raising his hand from his chair's armrest and reaching towards the floor. His long snake raised its head to meet his long-fingered hand. "You would keep me informed on his dealings."

I didn't respond. I stared back at him, frozen.

"It is your choice, Draco, whether or not you want to join us, but remember what your parents expect of you," he continued, ignoring my silence.

The Dark Lord pulled his bone-like wand out of his darkened sleeve and with a wave of the instrument, Apparated out of the room, taking his dangerous pet with him.

I slumped into the seat, unable to hide my overwhelming emotions. My mind raced, replaying the short conversation.

He was right in a way. I was physically near Harry Potter at school, but there was no way Harry's friends would allow me to get anywhere close to him. And what did Voldemort have planned for him? It was obvious that he wanted to kill Potter, but what else did he want from him. Blood? Pain? Torture?

I didn't like Potter much, but I never wished that kind of fate on him. He didn't deserve that. He couldn't even remember the night he defeated Voldemort. I couldn't let him get close to Harry.

But my parents wanted me to help the Dark Lord, and they probably wanted me to be a part of his army of Death Eaters as well. I didn't want that. There's no telling what I would have to do if I did join them, but if I didn't, You-Know-Who will undoubtedly blame my parents and do any number of things to them.

I didn't want Harry to die, but I didn't want my parents or myself to die, either.

The door flew open and a voice hurriedly demanded, "How was it?"

I straightened my posture and shook my head slightly to clear my mind of my thoughts and turned to see my father rushing towards me, his black walking stick griped tightly in his hand.

"Well?" he almost shouted when I didn't answer.

"F-fine," I stuttered.

My father narrowed his eyes slightly at me until I lowered my gaze from him. "Just _fine_?" he repeated, his gaze becoming heated with intensity.

"He wants me to keep an eye on Potter," I said firmly.

"And?" he demanded. But when I didn't answer him as quickly as he wanted, he added, "What have you decided?"

I glanced back up at him, slightly surprised that he wanted an answer right away. "I don't know," I muttered, lowering my eyes again.

"What do you mean you _don't know_?" my father said, his voice too calm to be real.

"I mean it's a lot to process," I stated, raising my voice a little. "I need to think about it."

Father seemed to tense even more, looking at me with something akin to disgust, but he sighed quietly. "Okay. You have two weeks. At the end of those two weeks, you have to give both him and _me_ an answer." With that, he stormed out of the dining room, the sound of his tapping cane quieting with each retreating step.

Now, I was officially caught between a rock and a hard place. What could I do?

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I'm updating this a little early because I won't be able to this weekend. I'm going to my first Comic Con cosplaying as a female Dipper Pines!  
> So. To clear something up, most of the first half of this story is a flashback. We will catch up to real time around Chapter Fifteen, I think. In this chapter, the summer before Order of the Phoenix as well as the Fifth Year itself is covered.
> 
> Copyright: I own nothing. There is one Original Character named Loft (you meet him in this chapter), but I do not own the concept for House Elves. No other Copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Two**

I was almost entirely silent throughout the two weeks I was given to decide. I had nothing to say. Both of my parents threw expectant glances at me as they awaited my decision, but even when my last day to choose drew to a close, I hadn't made one yet.

It was either my life and my parent's lives, or Harry's life and anyone else who stood in the Dark Lord's way, and considering how many friends Harry has made, that would be quite a few people. Logically, to avoid the maximum loss of life, I should refuse what Voldemort had offered and let him kill us, but my heart wouldn't let me. These were my parents, and I did not want to die.

I sat on the sheets of my bed, staring at the dancing flames of the fire as the orange light of sunset glowed through my window, contemplating everything.

How did I get here?

I was only fourteen--almost fifteen then--but I shouldn't have been asked to choose who lives and who dies.

"Hello, sir," a small voice greeted from the doorway.

I glanced towards where I heard it from and found one of our House Elves standing in his rags, hesitating at the doorway. "You can come in," I muttered.

The Elf nodded and entered. "Loft is just here to change the wood in the fire, young master Malfoy," he informed.

I didn't say anything, but the small creature moved forward anyway, and I watched him wordlessly as he worked. After a few moments of flying embers, the House Elf bowed to me and moved towards the door.

"What should I do?" I blurted out, stopping the Elf his tracks.

The little creature froze for a moment before turning back to me. "About what, sir," he wondered.

Realizing what I said, I paused, trying to think of a cover, but nothing came to mind. I needed to talk about this with someone, and my parents were out of the question. The House Elves have seen a lot, and even when they don't actually do anything wrong, they hurt themselves because they were programmed to. It tore at my heart to see them do it, but I learned a long time ago that it can't be prevented.

"Uh...," I hesitated, but with a sigh, I finally voiced everything. "I have to make a choice. It's basically between who lives and who dies, and I don't know which way to lean."

"Are you asking Loft's opinion, sir?" the Elf questioned, surprise ringing in his voice as his eyes slightly widened.

"Yes," I voiced, "or at least some advice on which to choose."

"Loft does not know, sir," the creature began, "but if it was Loft's choice, Loft would chose the option that killed the least amount of people, sir."

"Yeah," I agreed. "I would, too."

"Then what is the problem, sir?"

"If I take that option, I also choose to kill my family and myself," I answered, my chest tightening at the thought.

"Loft used to have a family, sir, but they were separated when they grew capable enough to serve," the servant explained, "so if it was a choice between Loft's own family and others, Loft would choose his family, even if it meant a greater amount of death."

I huffed out my anxiety, his words cementing my decision. "Thank you," I uttered.

"You are welcome, sir," the Elf responded with a bow before turning back to the door.

"Loft," I called, getting him to look back at me.

"Sir?"

"Don't tell my parents or anyone about this conversation," I ordered, fearing what might happen if he did. What would my father have to say about my taking advice from a House Elf?

"No, sir," he agreed with another small bow.

As the Elf turned back to the door, my father moved briskly through it, hitting the pale creature out of his way. The servant gave a cry of pain as my father harshly whispered, "Get out of here."

The House Elf nodded as he held his injured arm, taking his leave with a small bow.

"What's your decision?" Father demanded, staring at me with something akin to panic in his eyes.

"Yes," I answered slowly, and with a preparatory breath, I continued, "I'll help him. I'll help the Dark Lord."

My father smiled softly at me upon hearing my answer. "You have made the best decision of your life, Draco," he said. "I will inform our Dark Lord, and we will begin your training as a Death Eater tomorrow."

That was all I did that summer break.

They installed some kind of Dark Arts shield so I could practice without being caught by the Ministry for the use of underage magic outside of school, so I trained, and trained, and trained. I never got a break.

The Death Eaters that were not currently housed in Azkaban Prison took care of my preparation for becoming one of them. My father couldn't do it because he was biased towards me or something like that. That was all I was ever told. My father watched on the sidelines as I progressed, or that's what they called it, anyways.

I was trained in the Dark Arts and taught every spell; they wormed their way into my mind and wand, infecting me. They were so draining. I could only take so much before I collapsed. I became deathly ill for an entire month of the summer. I couldn't keep any food down, and I ran a constant high temperature. I was weak and bedridden, and I slept through most of the month. Thankfully, my Death Eater trainers gave me some reprieve.

We ended training a week before school began, so I would have time to prepare. I thought that the lapse in training was so I could take the time to look normal again. My skin had paled significantly, and my cheeks had sunken in. I still looked ill, and the more Dark Arts spells I casted, the worse my sickness got. They must have given me that time at the end of the summer to regain some of my lost health.

As the school year began, I could tell that there was something different about the atmosphere around the school, and it wasn't just Professor Umbridge or the OWLs looming over the other Fifth Years. The air was tense and a sense of foreboding hovered over the students.

Preparing for my OWLs gave me a chance to process everything. Crabbe and Goyle constantly tried to converse with me and make jokes, but I was never in the mood for it. "Gotta study," I said over and over again.

"You're starting to sound like a Ravenclaw, Malfoy," Crabbe mocked.

I laughed slightly and retreated to an unoccupied corner of our dungeon common room. I pulled out a textbook and opened it to a random page. My mind drifted as I scanned the words.

I was reporting everything to my father through owl messages. They were done in code so that if the owl was intercepted, they would seem like harmless correspondence between a father and son. I told him how Potter was acting differently: Harry was distant and short tempered. It had to be related to You-Know-Who's return, but Father wanted to know everything anyways, so when Umbridge practically took over Hogwarts, I told him that, too.

Father… _suggested_ that I join the Professor's Inquisitorial Squad, saying that it would not only help train me to take orders without question, but it would make my task of spying on Potter easier. And we had finally gotten a lead that seemed promising.

The rest of the Squad and I watched Potter as he and his friends disappeared through a door practically everyday. The door shrunk in size every time we got close to it. We would burst through it and it was just a storage closet. At first I despised the job of spying on Potter, but now my curiosity was piqued. Where did they go everyday?

My father suggested that we interrogate the people who Potter snuck around with using a truth-telling potion. That earned us what we needed. Cho told us everything about Dumbledore's Army.

Potter grew even more distant after that. He just wasn't the same person he was the first four years of school. With the whole thing about his secret Army resolved, I thought I could wash my hands of the whole affair. I thought I was done.

But I couldn't have been more wrong.

When those Weasley twins interrupted everyone's OWLs by setting off fireworks inside the school and leading everyone outside, it was quite the show--even though they chased me with one of those fireworks. After that, Potter and a few others disappeared.

No one could find Harry, that Weasley girl with a crush on him and her older brother, that insane blonde girl, the boy who likes plants and that smart girl with the puffy brown hair. Despite that fact, everything at the school resumed. The professors told us that they were looking for Potter and his friends, and we all went home that summer as usual.

I had no idea what awaited me at home that summer. I knew I was in for more intense training, but Potter looked triumphant when he returned to the school. I have been around Hogwarts long enough to know that Potter disappearing combined with a look of triumph upon his return meant that he had faced Voldemort or something of that nature.

My father didn't waste any time when the Hogwarts Express pulled into Platform Nine and Three Quarters. I barely had time to gather my luggage. He was limping but rushed me away faster than I could keep up with. I protested against him, but he held fast to my arm and didn't let me go until we got to our Manor.

"It's my turn to train you," he said between panicked, gasping breaths, finally releasing his hold on me in our courtyard.

"I thought you couldn't," I reminded, dropping my luggage and massaging my sore arm.

"Well, I have to, now," he told me.

"Why?" I questioned, his panic affecting my own nerves.

Father looked back at me with a hardened expression and remained silent for a moment before reluctantly saying, "I made a mistake. I had to get something for our Dark Lord, and I f-failed. I lost what he needed, and now I have to train you."

"As a punishment?" I pressed.

"Yes," Father answered.

"How is training me a punishment?" I asked, a fearful curiosity eating away at me.

"I'm sure you've noticed by now that casting Dark Spells drains you and makes you ill ," he began, nervously. "The more powerful the spell, the more energy you lose. Eventually you build up an endurance and are able to tolerate it, but at your level, you can barely stand it. I have to train you in the hardest and most powerful spells. They could kill you."

I didn't respond. I looked back at him, an ice cold fear coiling in my chest. "He's making you kill me?" I hesitantly questioned.

"No," he instantly responded. "I won't do that. But if you don't listen to my advice about these spells, that will happen, and I'm afraid that neither of us have a say in the matter. You have to train, and I have to train you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think? Hopefully this chapter went over as well as the first.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty short, but there are plenty of longer ones to come.  
> Copyright: I own nothing.

**Chapter Three**

Half of the summer already had gone by when Father told me that he was going to teach me the Killing Curse. I had learned about it from Mad Eye Moody when he taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, but I had never cast it. I knew the words of the spell, but I was already so weak from the training. I could barely look at myself in the mirror anymore. There was a pallor to my skin unlike there had never been before. There were darkened spots under my eyes, and I had lost over ten pounds. I was so exhausted that I could hardly stand.

I swayed on my feet as my father placed a small rat on a table in our sheltered courtyard.

"Do you remember the words?" Father wondered as he moved back to me.

"Yeah," I mumbled lazily, looking back up at him.

My father wasn't like he used to be, either. He looked worse than me. His cheekbones stood out more than they ever had before, and he was as white as a sheet. His long hair was unkempt and scruff was beginning to form on his jaw.

"Good. Cast it," Father ordered, gesturing to the rat on the table.

I glanced back at the small rodent, tightening my limp hold on my black wand. I raised the instrument and took aim at the squeaking creature. My stomach churned with disgust and fear, but I had no idea what the disgust was aimed towards. Certainly not the rat, but what else could be so repulsive?

"Cast it!" Father hissed from my side, a panicked urgency in his voice.

I jolted at his harsh voice, but steadied my aim and shouted, " _Avada Kedavra_!"

I barely registered the green light that flared from the end of my wand. An unfamiliar pain speared me in the chest making me cry out. My wand fell from my grasp, and I collapsed to the ground, instantly losing any remaining strength. My lungs froze, a Dementor-like coldness stealing my breath. I tried to draw in air, but the more I tried, the more my throbbing lungs burned.

"Draco!" Father called, his voice nothing but a distant echo.

Everything faded away to blackness, and the feeling of being carried and moved was nothing but the distant brush of a feather.

* * *

"Draco," Mother later voiced, bringing some colour into my darkened mind.

I forced my eyes open to find her face. Her blurry outline eventually focused, and I opened my mouth try to speak, only to be stopped by a terrible burning in my throat.

A hard cup was quickly pressed to my lips as a hand slipped behind my neck, raising my head. Cool water streamed into my mouth, soothing my dry throat.

The cup was taken away all too soon, and my head was lowered back down onto a pillow.

"What's going on?" I muttered.

"You've been unconscious, Draco," Mother answered. "We moved you to your room. I preferred to take you to a hospital, but they know what the effects of casting Dark spells are. They would recognize it, and we would all be arrested and thrown into Azkaban."

"How long was I out?" I croaked.

"About half a month," she answered.

"Half a month?" I exclaimed, trying to raise myself up and scan her face to see if she was lying. How could I have been unconscious for that long?

"Don't try to sit up," Mother harshly whispered, placing her hands on my shoulders and forcing me back down onto the bed. It didn't take much to get me to give into her force, and I readily fell back down onto the mattress of my bed with an exhausted groan.

"It's almost time for school, now," my mother informed, rising back to her full height. "You should be recovered in enough time to go."

"Should?" I questioned.

"Well, nothing is certain. Casting a Killing Curse for the first time never ends well," she answered.

"Then why did I have to cast it?" I asked.

Mother took a moment to answer, but once she did, it made me even more sick to my stomach. "I'll tell you later. For now, you need to focus on getting better. You're almost ready," she said softly, patting the inside of my left wrist.

The grandfather clock in my room chimed, making my mother glance up at it. "Oh!" she exclaimed, standing back up, "I have to go."

"Go where?" I called as loud as my hoarse voice would go as she moved towards the door.

She turned back to me and put her hands on either side of the door frame. "Just somewhere with your Aunt Bellatrix," she dodged. "You get better, okay?"

I slowly nodded, earning a smile from her, and she turned and left.

Once Mother was gone, I lifted my left arm from the bed and eyed the inside of my wrist. I discovered a slightly darkened mark forming onto my skin like a bruise. It had an odd shape to it, vaguely like a snake coming out of a skull.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco goes to Knockturn Alley with his mother, Bellatrix Lestrange and Greyback the werewolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, peoples! This Chapter is a lot longer than the last, so I hope it makes up for my lack of content in Chapter Three. Here, The Half-Blood Prince film officially begins.

"Today's the day! Ready to go, Draco?" Aunt Bellatrix excitedly shouted, making me wince at her volume.

"Yes," I quietly answered as I entered our living room.

"Good!" she responded as Greyback the werewolf and my mother moved into the room. "Let's go, then!"

Mother took hold of my arm. I jumped a little at the sudden force on my still aching wand-arm as Bellatrix lifted her wand and Apparated us out of the manor. Our surroundings suddenly blurred and quickly rearranged themselves into a darkened alleyway made of black stone.

"Let's go this way!" Bellatrix hissed as she raised her dark hood.

Bellatrix and Greyback quickly ran down the alleyway that led to Borgin and Burkes. I moved to follow them, but my mother placed a hand at my torso to stop me. She glanced around before shoving me in front of her and guiding me through the twisted ally, bringing us to a shop I visited with my father the summer before I began my Second Year.

My mother entered the shop while I hesitated outside the door, taking a moment to wipe all trace of emotion from my expression. Being around the other Death Eaters and my father so often has made me grow talented at concealing everything I felt. I learned a long time ago not to show fear or regret over the Dark spells I was being taught to cast.

"What can I do for you today?" a voice greeted as I entered the shop.

"We're looking for a rare item," I answered, reciting the script we had rehearsed as the owner of the shop came forward.

"W-well, we have plenty of that here," the older man stuttered, nervously glancing at Greyback behind me. "You'll have to be more specific, my boy."

"A Vanishing Cabinet," I clarified.

"'A Vanishing Cabinet'?" the man laughed. "Now, that's a bit too rare. I couldn't even tell you where to find one."

I swallowed nervously, gulping down the sudden lump in my throat. I didn't expect this to be easy, but I didn't want to show him. I never wanted to look at it again, but as Bellatrix subtly prodded my back, I knew I didn't have a say in the matter.

I sighed dramatically, carefully rolling up the sleeve that concealed my left wrist. I held my arm out to the man as he approached me to inspect the Mark forming on my arm. The owner tensed and fear flashed in his eyes. "Are you sure you don't know?" I arrogantly wondered, tilting my head to the side for emphasis.

"I may have one in the back of the shop," he said quickly. "Follow me."

The shopkeeper led us through the various shelves and counters and through a hidden door and into the room beyond. The man waved his wand and lit the back room with a soft glow of various candles and lanterns.

"Here it is," the keeper said, slapping the side of a blackened wardrobe.

I crossed the floor and inspected the dark wood. I tapped the side of it with the ring my father gave me after I cast my first Killing Curse. He said it would keep him close if I fell ill l again and he couldn't be there.

I put my ear to the door of the Cabinet and closed my eyes, listening to the hollow echoing and making sure it was what the shopkeeper said it was. My father had told me what to listen and look for to be sure it was a real Vanishing Cabinet, and everything seemed to be in order.

I turned back to the shop owner and voiced, "This'll do."

The owner opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it again, staring at the werewolf behind me.

Curiously following his gaze, I found Greyback standing on a platform above us and staring out of the large window through squinted eyes. I was about to ask him what he was staring at when, with a wave of my mother's wand, the blinds snapped closed, instantly blocking off any view to the outside.

"You were saying?" I asked the shopkeeper after clearing my throat and yanking my sleeve back down, my uneasiness at having my faint Mark exposed growing by the minute.

"I was going to ask what purpose a teenager could have for a Vanishing Cabinet. Where you would take it," the man answered.

"That's our business," I calmly responded. "And we don't need to take it. We just need to...put it on reserve for a while."

"Yes, but a man can't help but be curious..." the shopkeeper trailed off.

"Well, I hope you can help it for your sake," I threatened, my heart clenching as I spoke.

Bellatrix gripped her wand at her hip, and as per the plan, I gave her a stern look. She quickly released her wand and backed a few steps away from the man.

The shop owner visibly gulped and stuttered, "E-either way, you-you'd still have to pay."

I looked over to my mother and gave her a curt nod. She reached inside of her cloak and pulled out a coin purse that she handed to the shopkeeper.

The man opened it with an expression that was simultaneously curious and cautious. His eyes widened as he found the several hundred galleons resting inside the small coin purse. The owner looked back up at us and gestured to the item we needed. "The Cabinet is yours."

Bellatrix bounced excitedly over to my mother and myself as Greyback descended towards us. The three adults each raised their wands, and my mother took my hand as we Apparated back to my family's manor.

We appeared in the main dining hall, and I quickly let go of my mother's hand and backed away from the group, relieved that it was over. It was time for school, now, and I had collected my books and things early so we would have time to get the cabinet later in the summer when it was less crowded. I would never have to deal with this until Christmas Break when my training resumed.

My stomach suddenly heaved painfully, and I covered my mouth as bile rose into my throat. I was already weak from the Dark spells I have been casting lately, and my body hadn't fully recovered from the Killing Curse I cast on that rat, so the Apparating that day made me nauseous to the point of needing a toilet.

I was about to retreat to my room and private bathroom when the voice of my father stopped me. "Draco?" he called behind me.

I quietly sighed away my nerves and pushed my churning stomach to the back of my mind as I turned around. "Yes, Father?"

"It is time we tell you the real reason we need the Vanishing Cabinet," Father began. "And the reason your training will continue until you leave for school with special emphasis placed on the Killing Curse."

Before I could ask what he meant, the darkened and snake-like form of the Dark Lord extracted itself from the shadows in the corner of the room. My chest tensed with nerves, and I lowered my head in an attempt to hide my fear from him.

"Well done in acquiring the Cabinet, Draco," Voldemort breathed.

I quickly nodded in response, not taking my eyes off of his dangerous snake coiling around his feet.

"You have progressed quickly in your training, and I am very proud of you, but now it's time for your real training to begin," The Dark Lord whispered. "We need you to-"

"We need you to kill someone!" Bellatrix exclaimed, getting me to raise my head to glance at her.

You-Know-Who made a soft growling sound in the back of his throat as he slowly turned his head towards her, glaring threateningly at her through his slitted eyes. "Yes, Draco," he added, turning back to me. "We need you to kill someone with that Killing Curse you've been practicing."

"Who?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady. He was going to have me kill Potter. That had to be it. There was no one else I could imagine him wanting dead, but I thought that he had wanted to do away with Harry himself.

"Who your father says is the worst thing that has happened to Hogwarts School ," The Dark Lord uttered. "Albus Dumbledore."

I froze at the name, and I know I hadn't succeeded in keeping the shock off of my face. Why would The Dark Lord need the Headmaster dead?

"He can help Harry Potter escape me in so many ways, and you are the only person we have who can ensure that he does not get the chance to offer that help, but you won't have to do it alone. We have arranged for someone to help you," Voldemort continued in his breathy tone. "But you can do it any way you see fit. It will prepare the school for the day we take it."

"'Take it'?" I questioned. "How would you do that? Undoubtedly, they have heard about everything that we have been doing and have taken precautions to prevent that from happening."

"Ah, but there is already a Vanishing Cabinet in the school, yes?" the Dark Lord countered. "That Cabinet and the one at Borgin and Burkes are twins. They will create a passage once the one at Hogwarts is repaired. Then we can pass through their barriers unharmed."

I nodded and remained silent, casting my gaze to the floor again. I had thought that the School would be able to protect itself against the Dark Lord and his Death Eater army that I am now part of, but I suppose Voldemort always has a way to get what he wants.

"Don't you agree, Draco?" You-Know-Who asked, gliding even closer to me.

I glanced at my father, but all that he offered was a silent urging to say "yes".

"Yes," I finally muttered, "I agree. I'll kill Dumbledore."

"Excellent, Draco," The Dark Lord whispered, placing his cold hand on my shoulder. "I knew I chose correctly."

With that, The Dark Lord waved his bone-shaped wand in the air and vanished from the room, taking his snake with him.

Once he left, the churning in my stomach sprang to the forefront of my mind, but it was ten times worse than before. I placed a hand on my abdomen and another covering my mouth to try and keep the bile and little food I could eat inside of myself.

"Are you alright, Draco?" my mother asked, placing the back of her hand on my forehead.

"No," I mumbled through my hand. "Not right now."

"You must still be affected by the Killing Curse you cast," Mother offered.

"Yeah," I agreed, removing my hand from my mouth. "Let's go with that."

I didn't give her or anyone a chance to respond. I ran from the room and moved as fast as I possibly could to the private bathroom in my bedroom. I quickly raised the toilet lid up and rested it against the tank. The small amount that was in my stomach instantly bubbled up and poured from my mouth, the sound of my own retching making me even more sick.

I spent the good part of an hour bent over the toilet coughing up bile and dry heaving until my father called me from the main part of my room. "Draco?"

I spit a small amount of saliva that formed in my mouth after another dry heave before demanding, "What?"

"I-I came to check on you," Father said nervously. "And to tell you that I will no longer be training you."

I looked back to him, planning on questioning why, when another heave from my stomach forced me to bend back over the toilet bowl.

I retched and groaned, a hand clutching my aching abdomen, but nothing came up except saliva.

My father kneeled on the floor beside me and gently ran a hand up and down my back, smoothing down the fabric of my black suit. The careful movement of his hand calmed my churning stomach and allowed me some reprieve from this horrible hour.

"You have about two weeks left until you return to school, and The Dark Lord wants your training to be pushed harder," my father clarified.

"Harder?" I exclaimed, turning slightly to face him.

Father removed his hand from my back and sighed a little, giving me a pitying look as another jump from my stomach forced me back over the toilet.

"I'm sorry," my father sighed, "but I don't have a say in the matter. I don't even get to know who's training you."

I spat out another mouthful of saliva and halfheartedly wondered, "Anything I should prepare for?"

In truth, I didn't care what would happen during training. If it killed me, so be it. I didn't want to kill Dumbledore. I didn't want to kill anyone.

"Non-stop drills," Father answered. "I don't think that you'll be able to sleep very well, if you sleep at all."

"No sleep for two weeks?" I muttered, turning to him.

"You will sleep, but it will be so little that it will feel like none at all," Father responded.

I groaned and turned back to the toilet, resting my forehead on my hand.

Father returned his hand to my back and rubbed my spine up and down, comforting me as he said, "I suggest you eat what you can tonight and sleep as much as possible."

I nodded against my hand.

My father patted my back lightly and stood from the tiled floor, leaving the room.

The quieter his footsteps got, the more my heart sank. My stomach had settled for the most part, but I was terrified. I didn't want my father to go. For the first time in my life, there was something that scared me more than my father's stories, and he was the only one I could turn to. He was the one here for me now, not my mother like it normally was. Father came to warn me. Not Mother.

He couldn't leave me now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you all know, I'm not playing Devil's Advocate with Lucius in this chapter. There's never any proof that he hates Draco, and it's obvious that he loves his son, and JK Rowling came out on Pottermore (I think) saying that Draco looked up to Lucius.
> 
> Speaking of JK Rowling, I know she said that what Draco showed the shopkeeper on his wrist was not a Dark Mark, but I have no idea what else it could have been, so maybe it was a developing Mark. That's why it's in this chapter. To me, there's no other explanation. What else could have scared the shopkeeper so much (especially since Rowling discredited the theory that Draco is a werewolf)?
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Ice cold water washed over me, jerking me out of my restless sleep. I jolted straight up and sputtered, spitting out droplets of water that threatened to choke me.

"Wake up, Malfoy," a harsh voice ordered. "It's time for your training!"

The masked Death Eater that woke me grabbed my wrist and dragged me out of my bed. He forced me out of my room as he slapped my wand into my chest, making sure that I took it from him. He pulled me through the halls of my family's manor until we came to our sheltered courtyard.

"Time for you to learn all of the Curses and Unforgivable magic!" the Death Eater shouted in my ear.

A few other masked Death Eaters brought out various animals of different species that I was told to cast every Unforgivable Curse onto. Imperius, Cruciatus and Killing. All three in a row.

I couldn't contain my fear of this. I had cast the Imperius Curse before, and it didn't hurt like the Killing Curse did, but it still left me bedridden for the rest of the day the last time, and now I had to cast it over and over again on these animals.

When Mad-Eye Moody did it during class, it was entertaining. Up until he threw that spider on my face. What would I have to make these creatures do?

"Cast them!" the Death Eater shouted, making me jump and grip my wand harder than I already was.

I aimed the end of my wand at the animal closest to me-an owl-and did as instructed. "Imperio." My head pounded and my heart clenched as I voiced the spell. A wave of weakness made me close my eyes and nearly drop my wand.

"Pay attention!" the Death Eater barked, making me snap my eyes back open and double my grip on my wand.

The bird convulsed a bit as it tried to resist the Curse, but it was just an animal.

"Make it fly around," the Death Eater ordered.

I raised my wand again and leveled it at the bird. I used every ounce of concentration my swimming mind could manage and forced the owl to fly in several loops around the courtyard. The longer I made the creature fly, the more it drained me. After a few minutes, I was swaying on my feet and could barely keep my eyes open.

"Alright. Let it go," the Death Eater voiced, and I gratefully release my hold over the owl's actions.

I stumbled back a few steps as I lowered my wand, accidentally running into the Death Eater that was supposed to be my trainer.

"Get off!" he shouted, shoving me away. The Death Eater's voice sounded vaguely familiar. It almost sounded like one of my professors from school. "Cruciatus, now!" he ordered, shoving my arm towards the owl I made fly.

Refocusing on the creature with a shake of my head, I steadied my wand at the bird again, and-before I could back out of it-shouted, "Crucio!"

The bird squawked and convulsed in pain, and another wave of weakness hit me so strongly that I could barely stand. After a minute, my vision went completely dark, and something hard hit me on the cheek.

"Wake up, Malfoy!" that familiar voice echoed as a hand violently shook my shoulder.

My eyes flew open and I was greeted by the same masked Death Eater from before.

"Time for the Killing Curse," he told me, forcing me to my feet.

I swayed unsteadily, but the Death Eater kept a hand on my shoulder so I wouldn't fall.

I raised my shaking arm at the bird that was lying on the ground, giving off quiet tweets of pain. I didn't want to kill it, but it was in pain right now, and killing it would put the little creature out of its misery.

I focused my blurred eyesight and mumbled, "Avada Kedavra."

The flash of green light was quickly followed by a pained squawk. My weakened legs finally gave out from underneath me, and I fell into the Death Eater.

"Get off!" he shouted, letting go of my arm.

I instantly collapsed to the ground without his support, and the Death Eater rolled me onto my back and leaned over me.

"How do you expect to kill the Headmaster if you collapse when you cast the Killing Curse?" he demanded, ripping off his mask.

"Professor?" I gawked in shock, dulled by exhausted pain.

"Yes, Malfoy," Snape answered. "Now get up."

Professor Snape grabbed my arm and dragged me to my feet. "I'm the one they called to help you," he told me. "I'm to train you in multiple ways to kill and ensure that you accomplish the goals we need."

"What other goal do I have besides killing Dumbledore?" I asked.

"Establishing the pathway between the two Vanishing Cabinets, of course," Snape explained. "And I can teach you that as well."

"Well, if you can do it, why do I have to?" I wondered.

"I'll be teaching at school. I have classes to oversee and papers to grade," he hissed. "I am your alibi. I can account for your whereabouts when you're working on the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement."

"'Room of Requirement'?" I repeated.

"Yes," Snape said slowly. "I'll show you where it is when you get to school. Now." He gestured to a random animal wandering about the courtyard. "Repeat all three Curses."

It went that way the entire two weeks until I returned to school. Cast the three Unforgivable Curses. Learn about the Vanishing Cabinets and how the pathway can be established between them. Learn how to curse objects to kill a person.

I hardly slept. Occasionally, I managed to sneak away to a shaded area of the courtyard and catch less than a half an hour of rest. Snape always woke me with a splash of freezing cold water, and he and several others always repeated the same sentences over and over.

"Hogwarts is pathetic."

"Dumbledore is one of the worst people to let live."

"Harry Potter will lead to the Dark Lord's downfall."

"Dumbledore must not be allowed to help Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter nearly killed your father."

"You were chosen."

"He chose you."

In the back of my mind, I knew what they did to me, but I was too weak and tired to fight it.

And in the end, they were right. Potter would destroy everything the Dark Lord and all of us have worked so hard to build, and Dumbledore would help him destroy it. I was chosen to help the Dark Lord. Only I can help him. Only I could kill Dumbledore.


	6. Chapter 6

****Our entire train car was suddenly plunged into a misty darkness on the Express. "What was that!" I shouted, getting to my feet.

I navigated my way to the aisle as best I could in the dark. My nerves were already shot, so that was the last thing I needed. I let out a quiet, threatening growl from the back of my throat as I slipped my hand into my pocket and gripped my wand, my knuckles turning whiter than they already were.

"Blaise?" I consulted, trying to gain a second opinion before I lost it.

"I don't know," the dark-skinned boy answered.

"It's probably just some First Year messing around," Pansy offered. "Come on, Draco. Just sit down. We'll be at Hogwarts soon."

I sighed most of my tension away, and I released my aching grip on my wand. I smoothed out the wrinkles in my black suit as I lowered myself back into my seat.

"Hogwarts," I scoffed, shaking my head slightly. "What a pathetic excuse for a school. I might just pitch myself off of the Astronomy Tower if I thought I had to continue for another two years."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Pansy questioned worriedly across from me.

I wanted to badly to tell her and Blaise about what happened this summer. I didn't know if I could continue with these secrets and lies for another two years.

But knowing I couldn't tell anyone a word of it, I instead answered, "Just don't think I'll be wasting my time in Charms class next year."

Blaise snickered a little at my comment, and for some reason, it made my anger boil in my chest.

"Amused, Blaise?" I wondered, mockingly, getting him to close his mouth. "We'll see who's laughin' in the end."

My bag jumped in the rack above us, and I glanced up at it as the two across from me fell silent. The bag could have jumped due to the movement of the train, and I was about to dismiss it as such when the bag twitched again. It moved slightly towards me as if it was kicked.

* * *

"You two go on ahead," I told Blaise and Pansy as they rose from their seats. "I wanna check something."

The pair hesitated, but they eventually turned and left me alone.

Once the two were on the station's platform, I stood from my seat and grabbed my bag from the rack. I moved towards the door, but instead of leaving, I closed it quietly and lowered the blinds. I slipped my hand into my pocket and fingered the end of my wand. With a subtle flick of my wrist, the rest of the blinds in the train car fell closed.

I took a deep breath to prepare myself and hide my true emotion. I was angry at Potter for spying on me with that Invisibility Cloak of his, but I was terrified, too. What would happen if he found out what I had planned?

"Didn't your mummy ever tell you that it's rude to eavesdrop, Potter?" I spat, hitting him where I knew it would hurt. I flipped around, whipped out my wand and shouted, "Petrificus Totalus!" aiming my wand in the direction I thought Potter was.

The air quivered, and a cacophony of banging sounded as Potter fell from the rack. Something hit the table Blaise, Pansy and I were sitting around before crashing to the floor.

I marched over to where Potter seemed to fall and reached out, finding the hem of his Cloak. I ripped it off of the floor, revealing a paralyzed and dumbfounded Harry Potter lying on his back.

I scoffed at his frozen expression. "Oh, yeah. She was dead before you could wipe the drool off your chin."

Memories of what the Death Eaters and Snape said about Potter and how I, myself, have heard him speak of my father flowed to the forefront of my mind, and it raised my foot above Potter's face and smashed his nose in with my shoe.

"That's for my father. Enjoy your ride back to London," I spewed and lifted the Cloak, throwing it back over him and left the car.

No one would find Potter. He would ride back to London without a problem. He would likely be the only one to catch me. His friend Granger might, but Potter and I have more classes together this year, so Granger wouldn't have the time to grow suspicious of me. And Weasly, in all fairness, didn't have the competence to suspect anyone of anything.

I was safe with Potter back home.

"There you are!" a voice exclaimed. I looked down and found Professor Flitwick standing guard at the gate with a roll of parchment. "Name?"

I gave him a confused look and questioningly answered, "Malfoy, Draco?"

Flitwick crossed something off of the parchment with a quill before ordering me forward.

"Oh, Malfoy?" the professor called behind me.

I glanced back at Flitwick's short form and raised an eyebrow in question. "Yes?"

"You don't happen to know where Lovegood and Potter are, do you?"

I shook my head slightly and coolly answered, "No. No, I don't. Sorry, Professor."

Flitwick nodded in answer and waved me forward.

Resuming my walk, I found that Squib, Filch, inspecting my things with a couple of Aurors, and I ran forward. No one could have the chance to look too closely at what I brought to school. There were things I brought that were meant to aid me in killing Dumbledore. Poison, cursed objects, a cure for me to get my strength back if it did come down to casting a Killing Curse.

"What's this cane here?" Filch inquired as I reached him.

"It's not a cane," I corrected as the gate clanged shut. "It's a walking stick."

"And what would someone of your age need with a walking stick," Filch interrogated.

"My father gave it to me," I told him.

I didn't lie. My father did give me his old walking stick, but Filch couldn't look too closely. There was a vile of poison inside that he could not find.

"It could be some kind of weapon," Filch countered.

"It's alright Mister Filch. I can vouch for Mister Malfoy," Snape intervened, getting the Squib reluctantly to replace the walking stick where he had found it.

Snape stared fixedly past me, and I turned to follow his gaze and found Potter standing with that blonde Luny girl. She must have found him and got him off of the train before it left, though how she found him, I had no idea.

I smirked and couldn't help but taunt him at how ridiculous he looked with his bent and bleeding nose and his shirt covered in blood. "Nice face, Potter."

Before he could respond, Snape grabbed me by the forearm and dragged me into the castle.

"Don't let me know what you plan to do," the black-clothed professor instructed as we walked the hall. "The less I know about your plans, the better it will be for both of us. I'll show you the Room and how to get in tonight, but that's as far as my direct help can extend. I can cover for you. I can make sure no professors or staff cross your path outside of class for the most part, but I cannot be directly involved. The more people that know a secret, the higher the chance that someone will slip up."

"Yes, professor," I answered emotionlessly.

"Good," Snape responded quietly, pausing outside the open doors of the Great Hall. "Now, go in there, and act like you normally would. Keep up appearances."

I nodded silently as the professor stepped aside to allow me to enter the hall.

"Ravenclaw!" the Sorting Hat announced as I moved towards my seat by my friends, the last of the First Years was finally Sorted.

I lowered myself onto the bench between Crabbe and Goyle, and Goyle exclaimed, "There you are, Malfoy!"

"Yeah," Crabbe agreed. "Where've you been?"

"I was held up at the search," I covered, the usual buffet of food appearing on the long table. "Apparently my father's old walking stick is a 'possible weapon'."

The group of Slytherins around me snickered quietly, and I smirked with them as I loaded my plate with food.

I hadn't seen this much food in two weeks. They had given me enough food to be considered three meals a day, but it was never enough to satisfy my hunger. My stomach grumbled and ached, calling to be fed.

"Geeze, Draco!" Pansy exclaimed across the table. "Slow down! You're starting to eat like Crabbe and Goyle."

"Hey!" the two next to me yelled through mouthfuls of food.

I chuckled quietly, picking up a spoonful of strawberry gelatin. "Didn't eat lunch," I explained.

Pansy nodded in agreement as she filled her own plate, seeming to remember that I didn't eat on the train.

I managed to eat all of the gelatin and a chicken leg before my stomach churned, protesting against the speed that I was eating. I sat back from the table and pushed my plate away, unable to eat another bite.

"Are you gonna finish that?" Crabbe wondered with a full mouth.

I pushed the still-full plate towards him in response. I rested my elbow on the table and placed my chin in my hand while Crabbe devoured my plate of food. I glanced around at the others as they ate and couldn't prevent a hint of jealousy from making my heart burn. How could they have that much of an appetite? A few minutes ago, all of the food of the banquet was one of the most welcome sights in the world, but now it was one of the most repulsive. My stomach refused to settle and looking at the food only made the nausea worse. It took all I had to keep the pain off of my face.

After a few more minutes, my stomach thankfully began to simmer down as my target stood and approached the owl-shaped podium.

"Now that we're all settled in and sorted," Dumbledore announced, "I would like to introduce the newest member of our staff: Professor Horace Slughorn. He has graciously agreed to take up his old post as Potions Master. Meanwhile, the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts will be taken up by Professor Snape."

I raised an eyebrow in surprise at the news, but I otherwise didn't move. It was obvious that there would be a new professor on the staff, but I thought it would be a new DADA teacher. Snape didn't tell me that someone would replace him as Potions Master.

As Dumbledore continued speaking, my mind strayed to the last two weeks and what I still had to do.

_Kill Dumbledore._

_Don't let him aid Potter._

_Forge the passage._

"Draco!" a voice whispered, pulling me from my thoughts. "What are you doing?" Pansy quietly exclaimed.

"What?" I wondered.

Pansy gestured to my hand in answer causing me to glance down and look for what she meant. My dark wand had somehow ended up in my other hand, and I had it aimed towards the platform where the professors and Headmaster sat in a white-knuckled grip.

Covering up my actions, I loosened my hold, twirled the wand between my fingers and said, "Bored."

Pansy gave me an odd look but thankfully returned her attention to what Dumbledore was saying.

"But, in the end, their greatest weapon, is you," Dumbledore concluded, his words echoing in my mind.

I glanced back down at the wand in my hand. Was I just a weapon? I was sent here to kill someone, but I was chosen for it. I wasn't a weapon. I was chosen.

"Now off to bed. Pip, pip," the Headmaster ordered.

I put my wand away and glanced up at the platform, quickly making eye contact with Professor Snape. Snape nodded and discretely left out of the nearby door. I stood and silently followed my rowdy friends out of the doors of the Great Hall, but instead of following them to the Slytherin Common Room in the dungeon, I quietly slipped off to the side and quickly moved around the corner to meet up with the professor.

Snape briskly walked down the corridor while I followed at his heels. He led me through various halls that I committed to memory. Eventually, we came to the blank wall that the Inquisitorial Squad and I spent so much time staring at when we were trying to catch Potter and his friends in the act.

"This is the Room of Requirement," Snape whispered in the darkened hall.

"So there actually is a room behind this wall?" I questioned.

"Yes, and I know you found it last year with the Inquisitorial Squad," the professor answered, "but I'm going to teach you how to open it to the room that you need."

I nodded as Snape told me that there is a room filled with broken and misplaced things and that this is where the other Vanishing Cabinet resided. It sounded like nothing more than a room full of trash. How could something as valuable as a Vanishing Cabinet end up in a room that sounded like a landfill?

As Snape concluded his description of the Room, he told me to close my eyes and let the image of the Room fill my mind.

I did as instructed, and after a moment or two, the wall in front of us emitted a crackling sound, and I opened my eyes again to find a pattern carving itself into the wall. The curling pattern spiraled upwards and outwards until a wooden doorway had formed.

I watched as Snape marched forward and opened one of the doors, waving me through. Once I had moved past the professor, he let the door fall closed with an echoing bang. I looked back as the wall crackled once more, the door disappearing from the wall.

"This is the room you need," Professor Snape explained. "Every time you wish to work with the Cabinet, come to this wall and picture this room."

"Great," I responded, halfheartedly. "Where is the Cabinet?"

"Somewhere in this room," Snape answered. "I don't know its exact location, and I would rather not until the day we take the School. Remember what I said."

I nodded in response as the professor briskly moved passed me and towards the wall where the door re-formed itself.

I followed Professor Snape through the twisting corridors of the School and down to the dungeon common room of Slytherin House. "Get some rest," Snape suggested, his tone making it sound more like an order. "You have to get to work tomorrow."

I silently nodded and moved passed him and through the doors to the common room. Thankfully there weren't many people still awake, so I wouldn't have to answer too many questions about where I had been, but undoubtedly, Crabbe and/or Goyle will interrogate me.

"I can't make the lie too big," I muttered as I mounted the stairs to the boys' dorm room. "It has to be simple. Snape just needed me for something he told me not to talk about. That's close enough to the truth."

I quickly opened and closed the door to the boys' dorm room and was immediately overwhelmed with questions.

"Where've you been, Malfoy?"

"What were you doing?"

"We've been looking all over for you!"

Their bombardment of phrases reminded me too much of what happened a week ago, and I stumbled back a few steps back into the door.

"You alright, Malfoy?" Goyle wondered as I picked myself back up. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Or something equally as frightening that we don't see every day," Crabbe voiced.

"Fine," I spat. "Just tired. And as for where I was, I was with Snape. He needed me for something."

"What would he need you for this late at night?" Crabbe interjected.

"Wish I could tell you, but he told me not to breathe a word of it," I said, smoothing out the wrinkles in my dark suit.

"Well, you better get some sleep, Malfoy," Blaise offered. "You look like you could use it, and it'll l only get worse as the school year goes on," he laughed.

I quietly snickered along as I approached my bed which already had my things resting on it.

I opened my trunk and silently removed my pajamas from it. I slipped my nightclothes on and fell into bed, my lingering exhaustion from the two weeks earlier catching up with me again.

"Blaise is right," Crabbe whispered as he settled into his bed next to me. "You definitely need to sleep."

"Shut up, Crabbe," I mocked, rolling over onto my other side.

* * *

" _Kill him!" they echoed. "Kill him, now!"_

" _He'll kill you."_

" _Wake up!"_

_A splash of ice cold water._

" _He cannot be allowed to help Potter."_

" _You were chosen for this."_

_The moon rose and set. The stars came and went._

_Exhaustion made my very bones ache._

" _Wake up, Malfoy!"_

" _He'll kill you if you can't do this._

" _Eat your dinner! It's the last you'll get till tomorrow."_

" _You'll die if you don't."_

" _Cast it!"_

" _Avada Kedavra!" I shouted over and over again. "Crucio! Imperio!"_

_I collapsed to the ground so many times._

_I was so tired._

" _Wake up!"_

* * *

I jolted straight up in my bed, tossing my covers off. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, breathing deeply to try and calm my racing heart. My whole body was drenched in a cold sweat, making my night clothes stick to my clammy skin.

I never had enough time to dream during the two weeks before school, and I didn't expect it to be like that.

I glanced at the window and found the sky greying with morning. I should have gone back to bed, but I gathered my clothes and toiletries and retreated to the bathroom.

I shut and locked the door and splashed cold water onto my face to wake myself up, but all I did was throw myself back into those same memories in my dream.

" _Wake up, Malfoy!"_

I groaned and dried my face off with a nearby hand towel, ignoring my swirling memories.

After I brushed my teeth and rinsed, I was about to dump the remainder of the water into the sink when I noticed ripples in the water. My hand was shaking.

I dropped the cup and held my right hand with my left to try to get it to stop. I squeezed and shook my hand, but the tremor never ceased.

Eventually, I gave up on it and tossed the disposable cup into the trash bin by the sink and dressed into my day clothes, pleading that the shaking in my hand would stop.

I left the lavatory with my things and placed them back by my bed. The other boys in the dormitory were just beginning to stir as I grabbed my wand and snuck passed them and out of the room.

I walked to the common room and sat on one of the chairs near the smoldering wood in the fireplace. I twirled my wand through the fingers of my left hand as I inspected my shaking one. The tremor was still there. What was causing it? It was never there before. I understood that I was not quite recovered from the two weeks before school, but that wouldn't cause just my hand to shake? Wouldn't it make my whole body tremble, not just my hand?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....I've actually cried a few times while writing what comes next, so just...be prepared.


	7. Chapter 7

The whole day passed by in a blur. There was breakfast, but I hardly ate anything. My stomach protested against me if I tried to eat anything more than a piece of toast.

There was a class period and a class change, but I barely paid attention. You hardly ever had to the first day. It was usually just the professors saying what to expect during the school year and very little instruction.

Nothing throughout the morning stuck out until Potions that day. Slughorn taught differently than Snape, and Potter walked in late with his redhead friend, but neither of those were what caught my attention.

"Liquid Luck," Potter's curly-haired friend interrupted.

"Yes, Miss Granger. Liquid Luck," Slughorn agreed. "Desperately tricky to make. Disastrous, should you get it wrong. One sip and you will find that all of your endeavours succeed."

Hope sparked inside of me, the first I had felt since I started training. I had to win that potion. It was the best chance I had at repairing the Vanishing Cabinet and reforming the pathway between it and its twin and Borgin and Burkes. I might eventually be able to do it on my own, but that was a might. The potion was a guarantee. But there was only so much of it. Should I use the potion to kill who I was supposed to or to repair the Cabinet? If I fail at one but succeed in the other, I still might die.

As soon as Slughorn let us begin, I tore through my book to find the recipe for the Draught of Living Death. I scanned the ingredients and ran through the classroom to find them. I was the first person to gather everything, and I was the first person to start.

"Man, you're fast, Malfoy," Blaise laughed.

I laughed with him and said, "Do you know what I could do with that Liquid Luck?"

"What?" Blaise joked, lowering his voice as Slughorn passed. "You gotta big test to pass already?"

"I guess you could say that," I responded.

Eventually, I moved onto the Sopophorus beans and carefully brought my knife to the one I held in my hand. The instructions said to cut the bean, but it was impossible. The bean refused to stay in one place. As soon as my knife came into contact with it, it rolled all over my station, no matter how tight I held onto it.

Why couldn't I cut that stupid bean? I had to get that potion. I didn't think I could repair the Cabinet in time or kill Dumbledore. I still don't, but back then, when I was thinking about it, my hand shook so much that I almost cut my other hand open.

"Malfoy," Blaise called, getting me to look up from my work. "Are you sure you're okay? You didn't even notice when that bean from Weasley flew by, and you look like you're gonna throw up."

"I'm fine," I countered, releasing my knife.

"Merlin's beard! It's perfect!" Slughorn exclaimed from across the room. I glanced his way and found him leaning over Potter's cauldron. "So perfect I daresay that one drop would kill us all! Potter wins the Liquid Luck!" the professor announced, turning to address the whole class.

My heart sank, and my legs grew so weak that I had to lean against the table to support myself.

Of course Potter won it. It's just my luck. I had nothing to help me, now.

But I refused to take it lying down. I had to at least try.

At the end of the day, I slipped away from my old friends and moved briskly to the Room of Requirement. No one was ever in that corridor, so all I had to do was make sure that no one would follow me there.

Once there, I repeated the process that Snape told me of imagining the room I needed. I ran through the doors as soon as they formed and begged that they would disappear quickly. The doors dissipated after a second or two, and I combed my way through the mess of the room.

It was all junk. There was nothing there but broken and dusty things. The only thing that stuck out was the skipping record that repeated itself constantly, grating on my eardrums.

My frustration almost got the better of me, the tremor in my hand worsening by the minute. I was about to give up and come back later in the day after I had eaten and drank a little when I spotted a red covering draped over an object that was about as tall as the Cabinet in Borgin and Burkes.

I approached the covering with caution, not wanting to get my hopes up in case it wasn't what I thought. With one last breath, I ripped off the covering and stared at the Vanishing Cabinet underneath. I had found it. Finally, I could get to work.

I opened the Cabinet doors to see what I had to work with. The wood seemed to be in good condition, but the magic inside the Cabinet was broken. I could feel it. The shards of the pathway to Borgin and Burkes were there, but it wasn't enough to allow for a safe passage.

I pulled an old pocket watch my father gave me a few years ago and glanced at it, finding that it was already halfway through dinner. I had to go back before anyone missed me.

* * *

"Where've you been, Draco?" Pansy interrogated.

"Lavatory," I answered coolly as I took my seat.

"For over a half hour?"

"Not feeling well," I covered. "Must've eaten something at lunch that didn't agree with me."

"Do you need to go to the infirmary?"

"Nah," I answered, taking a small sandwich from the plate in front of me. "It's not that bad."

"Okay," Pansy conceded. "But only if you're sure."

"I'm sure," I insisted, taking a bite of my sandwich.

I swallowed the food and waited a few seconds without any protest from my stomach. I placed the sandwich on the plate at my seat and poured some water into the nearby goblet, taking a cautious sip. I was surprised when my body didn't reject the food and water by making me nauseous again, but I took advantage of it. I finished off the sandwich quickly and downed the goblet of water before my stomach could stop me. That was the first real meal I had eaten since two weeks prior to school. Anything I ate before barely stayed down.

I waited a few minutes before picking up a piece of chicken and putting it down on my plate. My body seemed to be tolerating the food, but I still wanted to take it slow. I took small bites and carefully swallowed each one. I drank a little water after I ate and waited, seeing if my stomach would heave.

I was about to take a small amount of pudding when my stomach churned again, and a little bile rose up into my mouth. I groaned and put a hand to my lips to try and keep the bile inside.

I sat for the rest of the hour of dinner, watching as the others piled food onto their plates.

At last, we could head to bed. I was the first one to leave for the common room, and I ran into the boys' lavatory once I got there. I rushed to a stall and locked it behind me, what I ate immediately releasing itself into the toilet.

I must have been worse than I thought. I got sick a while back, yes, but I didn't think it would affect me for this long.

"Draco?" a voice called as I held my aching torso. It sounded like Blaise.

I spat a bit of saliva into the toilet. "What?"

"I saw you rush in here. Are you alright? Pansy said you weren't feeling well at dinner, and now you sound like you're throwing up," he answered.

"I'm fine! Just leave me alone," I shouted, leaning back into the wooden wall of the stall.

Footsteps sounded, growing closer to the door of the stall, and before I could do anything, Blaise kicked the door in, small splinters of wood flying in every direction. He looked down at me on the floor and sighed. "I knew there was something off with you lately."

"I'm just sick," I responded, pleading that he would go away. "I caught something a week or so ago, but my family and I had thought it had passed."

"Yeah, well…" Blaise bagan. "We're taking you to the infirmary. Now."

"No, I'm fine," I protested as Blaise crossed me and flushed the toilet.

"You look like death, Draco!" he exclaimed. "You can say that you're fine all you want, but you are clearly not fine." Blaise ripped off a piece of bathroom tissue and held it out to me. "Clean yourself up. We're going now."

"Isn't it passed curfew?" I reminded, taking the tissue from his hand.

"Yeah, but if Filch catches us, we'll just tell him what happened," Blaise explained. "Then he'll either come with us to be sure we get there or let us go."

I groaned and tossed the bathroom tissue into the toilet after I wiped my mouth off, using the wall to help myself up.

Blaise grabbed my upper arm for support, leading me out of the lavatory and into the common room where Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy waited.

"So you are sick?" Pansy tried to confirm.

"Yeah," Blaise answered for me as I rolled my eyes in annoyance at the question. "He said he caught something during the last week before school. I'm taking him to the infirmary to be sure he gets there."

"I'm fine. I can get there on my own," I insisted.

If I went alone, I wouldn't have to go to sick bay. I could go to the Room of Requirement and work with the Cabinet, formulate some sort of plan.

"No, Draco. We know you too well," Goyle added. "You're saying that you're fine, so as soon as we let you go alone, you'll sneak off."

"We'll all take you," Crabbe agreed, Pansy nodding along with his words.

"Come on, guys," I groaned, yanking my arm out of Blaise's hold. "I'm fine," I protested, another heave from my stomach betraying my words.

"Yeah. We're definitely going now," Pansy ordered as I covered my mouth to force down more disgusting bile.

"Let's go, then," Crabbe insisted, starting off towards the door.

The other three stayed near me for support as they guided me out the door. They practically had to force me through the halls, the nerves coursing through me making my stomach churn even more than it already was. Madame Pomphrey might make me stay there indefinitely. Then there would be no way I could repair the Cabinet or kill my target.

But at the same time, I was glad that my friends were still my friends. I never knew that they cared that much about me. I thought that they only stuck around me because of my last name and to make fun of Potter.

And going to the hospital might not be all bad. The only thing that was really wrong with me was this never-ending nausea, and it would be nice to have that alleviated.

"What're you five doing out of bed?" Filch's voice bellowed as we rounded a corner.

"We're taking Malfoy to the hospital," Pansy answered calmly. "He's sick, sir."

"Oh, yeah?" Filch questioned as he approached, raising his lantern closer to my face. "What's wrong with you today, boy, huh?"

"I'm throwing up," I responded, trying to keep my voice steady as my stomach grumbled in discomfort.

"You sure you didn't just skip dinner?" Filch pressed.

"I found him in a stall in the lavatory," Blaise intervened. "He really was throwing up, sir."

"Yeah, well," the Squib sighed, backing away a little. "I'll go with you. I can't keep you from the hospital if you really are sick, but I have to make sure you get there."

"Not a problem, sir," Pansy agreed.

My stomach lurched once more, sending more of my stomach's contents into my mouth. I replaced my hand in front of my lips to keep back the foul-tasting bile.

"We should get going," Goyle said, noticing my discomfort.

Filched threw a glance at me as I swallowed back the acidic bile and nodded, starting off towards the hospital wing.

Perhaps it was the best thing that I went to the hospital that night. I lost time I could have used to repair the Cabinet or formulate a plan to kill Dumbledore, yes, but it would have been much more difficult if I had continued like I was.

"Madame Pomphrey?" Filch quickly called as we entered the doors of the infirmary.

"Yes, Mister Filch?" the witch responded as she came out of her office.

"There's a student here that says he's sick," Filch explained, gesturing to me.

"Come in, then," Pomphrey ordered.

Filch stepped aside as my friends rushed me forward to a nearby hospital bed.

"Sit down, Mister Malfoy," the nurse urged as I lowered myself onto the edge of one of the hospital beds. "Thank you, Mister Filch. You can return to your rounds." Madame Pomphrey briskly moved back to us and asked, "What seems to be the problem, Mister Malfoy?"

"I found him throwing up in the bathroom, Madame," Blaise answered for me.

"And he wasn't there for the first half of dinner," Pansy added. "Said he was in the bathroom and that he ate something that didn't agree with him at lunch."

"Is that true, Mister Malfoy?" Pomphrey questioned.

"Mostly," I answered. "I was in the bathroom during the first half of dinner, but it wasn't because of anything I ate at lunch. I didn't eat anything at lunch."

"So you haven't been eating?" Pomphrey interrogated.

"I have been. Just a little, though," I told her. "Don't want to throw it up like I did tonight."

"Has this been happening just today?"

"No," I responded. "It started a week or so before school. After a while, it looked like it had gone away. Guess not."

"Are you allergic to any foods?" she questioned.

"Not that I know of," I said.

"What did you eat at dinner?"

"Just a sandwich and a piece of chicken," I answered.

Madame Pomphrey cupped my chin with her hand and made me look up at her as she place the back of her other hand on my forehead. She then backed away a few steps and drew her wand. The tip of it glowed blue as she leveled it at my abdomen.

"Well, your temperature is a bit too high, and you're dehydrated from throwing up," the nurse explained, lowering her wand. "I can make you something for the next time you get nauseous, if you like."

I nodded to her, and she swiftly moved to a set of cabinets across the room, taking out various containers and vials. After a few moments, the nurse returned with a small glass bottle filled with an amber liquid, and she held it out to me.

"The next time you feel like throwing up, drink a tablespoon of this, then drink a cup of water, and it'll help get your fever down, as well," Pomphrey instructed as I took the bottle from her. "Drink a lot of water, but drink it slowly. Eat something if you can, but make it small, like a bit of biscuit or some bread. I suggest that you take a day off tomorrow and stay in bed and rest. Have your friends fill you in on the school work."

"I don't have to stay here?" I wondered, fearing that my relief could be heard in my voice.

"Not for something like this," Pomphrey laughed. "If it gets worse, you will have to stay here for a while, but for now, you'll be fine on your own. Be sure to get some rest, though. You don't look like you've been sleeping"

"I've been waking up in the middle of the night the past two weeks to throw up," I muttered, giving them a half-truth.

"Well, this should help with that," Pomphrey said with an encouraging smile.

I nodded in response and rose from the hospital bed.

"Now, off to bed you lot," Pomphrey finished, moving back towards her office.

"Let's go, guys," I suggested as I moved towards the door, the others following close behind me.

Once we got back to the common room, the boys and I parted with Pansy after she wished me well, and we all went to the bathroom to and get ready for the night.

* * *

_I collapsed to the ground in exhausted pain after yet another Cruciatus Curse. My fourth one that day._

_When would this stop? Something had to make it stop._

_I didn't know how long I laid there for, but for once, nothing woke me. There was no splash of water or demands for me to waken, but someone soft did call me, gently shaking my shoulder._

_My eyes fluttered open, and I struggled to focus my blurred vision to find my father staring at me with worry and regret._

" _I'm sorry about this, Draco," he whispered, his words echoing hollowly. "But you have to understand that neither of us have a choice, now."_

" _Father-" I croaked, carefully trying to raise myself up._

" _No, no. Shh. Lie still," he insisted, gently pushing me back down. "They've allowed you a little reprieve, which is the only reason I can be here. I just came to apologize. I love you, Draco, despite what you may think at times. Rest, now. Get as much sleep as you can. It's the only way you'll be able to keep going, and if you stop now, they might kill you."_

_My vision worsened as my eyes started to close again._

" _I don't want to keep you awake, but you have to listen," Father rushed, the echo in his voice becoming more profound. "There are only three possible outcomes for this. One: you collapse and die. Two: you don't die, but you can't continue, in which case they will kill you. And three: you live, and you fix that Cabinet and kill Dumbledore. Those are the options you have."_

_I struggled to focus on Father as my eyes nearly closed without my permission. I tried to understand him, but his words made no sense. My mind was too fogged to understand much of anything other than the fact that I was losing consciousness._

_Father smiled softly at me and patted my hand, his face and touch growing more and more distant, until I finally lost touch with the world entirely._

* * *

My eyes flew open as I woke from my dream. Or was it a memory? If it was a memory, it was so blurred and distant that it might as well have been a dream. My father would never look at me like that. He never had before, so why would he now? And he had never apologized for anything in his life. It had to have been a dream.

Either way, it was the best sleep I had gotten since the Dark Lord returned.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I know how to put on a pretty pathetic show...I'm getting pretty good at feeding them the lines they like." (Icon for Hire, "Theatre")

During the prescribed day off, I spent the entire day in the Room of Requirement working on the Vanishing Cabinet. I used almost everything I brought with me to repair the magical pathway to the Cabinet in Borgin and Burkes. I was taught hundreds of different spells--both Light and Dark--that could repair the path, and I spent the whole day casting them. I started with the lighter didn't drain me as much, but no spell that I cast held for longer than a few minutes. Eventually, I moved into the darker spells. I cast them over and over again, but nothing was permanent.

I raised my wand to cast another when my vision blurred and my legs grew weak. I instantly lowered my wand and put a hand to my head to try and steady it. After a while, I thought my head had cleared, but instead of feeling better, my knees gave out, and I fell to the floor. I released my hold on the end of my wand and laid on the floor for a while, too exhausted to get back up.

Looking back on it, I should have forced myself to leave the Room of Requirement and gone back to the common room, but I was too weak to even pick up my wand that rested just centimeters away.

After a few moments, my eyes slipped closed as I lost consciousness. I wasn't sure how long passed, but eventually, I managed to wake myself and grasp my wand.

I rolled onto my stomach with a grunt and pushed up from the floor, forcing myself to stand. I stumbled a few steps towards the Cabinet, struggling to get my unsteady feet back underneath me. I leaned up against a wall of junk to catch my breath.

I was done for the day. I couldn't go any further.

I breathed deeply, focusing on the magical pathway to the Cabinet in Borgin and Burkes. Some of the shards had come together, making the passage a little more tangible. It wasn't enough to quit, but it was progress.

I raised my wand again waved it at the Cabinet, closing its doors, and with another flick of my wrist, the red covering floated up and placed itself over the Cabinet, concealing it once more.

I slipped my wand back into my pocket and pulled out my father's old pocket watch. It was about an hour before dinner, giving me enough time to head back to the common room and clean myself up. I really wanted to hide away in my bed and sleep, but I was starving.

I put the watch back into my pocket and stumbled through the Room's double doors. I leaned up against one of the stone columns as the doors disappeared from the wall, the world spinning to fast for me to keep walking.

Once my surroundings had settled, I started off towards the Slytherin common room, though I was still stumbling and running into things, making the journey seemed endless. I'm grateful that no one else wasn't there to see. I would have never heard the end of it, especially if it was Peeves that saw. He would've spread word throughout the entire castle like wildfire.

At last, I ended up in the common room, and I ascended the stairs to the boys' dormitory on wobbling legs.

I made my way to my bed, and pulled open the closet door. I stared at myself in the mirror, making sure that I was presentable for dinner. My hair was mussed, my cheeks were sunken in and there were dark circles under my eyes. I could fix the hair, but there wasn't much I could do about the rest of it. I ran my fingers through my white hair to smooth it down, and adjusted my black suit, so that it would look like there was less wrong with me than there actually was.

A loud grumble from my stomach reminded me of both the time and the tonic that Madame Pomphrey made me the night before. I grabbed the small bottle off of my nightstand and hid it inside one of the pockets of my school robe.

Knowing that dinner would already be started by the time I made it to the Great Hall, I didn't bother to check my watch and left the dormitory.

I ran into Snape halfway to the Hall, and we locked eyes for a moment, making me tense again.

"Any progress?" the professor asked in a hushed tone.

"A little," I answered, mimicking his volume. "It's not enough, but I've made some."

"You look sick," Snape commented.

"I am sick," I responded.

"It's the-"

"Yeah, I know what it is," I interrupted, earning what was considered a disapproving look by Snape's standards. "Can I go eat dinner now?"

Snape didn't respond but calmly walked away, presumably heading to the door to the Great Hall that the professors always entered through. I sighed my tension away when he disappeared around a corner, and I resumed my walk to the main entrance of the Great Hall.

I caught up with a river of students from all Houses flowing into the Great Hall, each one anxious to eat. I wanted so badly to actually eat something tonight, but I wasn't sure if I could, so I was more cautious than excited.

I quickly found my seat at the Slytherin's long table and fell into it, glad I could finally sit down. I placed an elbow on the table and leaned my aching head onto my hand, closing my eyes. I was so tired. My desire to eat paled in comparison to my desire to sleep.

"Hey, Draco!" Crabbe shouted, sending a pang through my pounding skull as he took his seat beside me.

"Finally decide to join the living, eh?" Goyle mocked, lowering himself into the seat on my other side.

"Couldn't stay in bed anymore," I lied. "And plus. My hunger got the better of me."

"Well, at least you actually want to eat," Pansy joked as she took her seat across from me.

I faked a quiet laugh as Blaise took his spot beside Pansy.

"You remembered that tonic, right?" he wondered.

"Yeah," I said, glad I could answer something truthfully for the night. "Got it right here." I patted the side of my robes.

The food for dinner bloomed onto the table, and I glanced at it all with disgust, nausea rising inside of me at the sight of it.

After a few minutes, Pansy spoke up. "You have to at least try, Draco. You don't want to starve, do you?"

I shrugged and took a small biscuit and a slice of cheese. I took the smallest bite possible of both and put it on my plate, waiting to see if I could keep it down.

"And drink a little, as well," Pansy instructed.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were Madame Pomphrey," I mocked, pouring some water into my goblet.

"Oh, ha-ha," she sighed, getting me to genuinely smile at her. It was a small smile, but it was the first real one I had managed in two years.

I sipped the water, and glanced up at the platform where the the professors and Headmaster ate. Dumbledore seemed to catch my gaze, and I quickly lowered my head. He wasn't the Headmaster. He was a target. My target. Nothing more.

I picked up my biscuit and cheese and took another small bite. My nerves were shaken at catching Dumbledore's gaze that the tremor in my hand returned, so I dropped the food, and fisted my hand to try to get the shaking to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But I don't recognize the [boy] that I face each night." (Icon for Hire, "Theatre")


	9. Chapter 9

Later in the year, the morning we were all going to Hogsmeade was the best day I'd had in awhile. I had taken the tonic from Madame Pomphrey, and my sickness had lessened greatly. I continued to cast Dark Spells on the Cabinet in the Room of Requirement, which slowed my physical progress, but it was still the best I had felt in a long time. I could keep food down. My stomach, for once, wasn't protesting against me when I ate anything larger than a biscuit. I was so hungry that my stomach sent pain throughout my entire body, so I ate everything I could at breakfast that day. It earned me a little mocking from Pansy and Blaise about turning into Crabbe and Goyle, but I didn't mind.

It didn't seem like that day could go wrong. I was going to be away from the School, so I couldn't work on the Cabinet. I wouldn't be casting any Dark Spells that day. Finally.

The owls started pouring in for the usual morning post, and I rolled my eyes as Weasley's old bird crashed into Potter's distinctive white one, throwing them both into their table.

A cream-coloured owl gracefully landed on the table in front of me with a note attached to its leg. It was addressed to me.

I untied the letter from the owl's leg and gave it a bit of a muffin in payment. The bird flew off as I broke the wax seal on the letter and unrolled it. It was an encoded message from my father. On the surface, it looked like any letter a father would send his son, but it was actually a check on my progress and a reminder.

Decoded, the message read:

_Draco,_

_How are things coming along with the Cabinet. We need to know._

_And have you made any attempt at taking your target's life as of late? If you were successful, we would hear about it in the papers, but we haven't, so you have either failed, or you haven't tried yet._

_I know that you will be away from the School for your Hogsmeade trip and unable to work with the Cabinet, but you can still try to accomplish your other task._

_I will be proud of you when you do. You were chosen for this._

_He didn't chose you. Well, not entirely. I did. Several names were brought up, and I thought you would be perfect. He and I didn't both chose wrong, did we?_

_Father_

My hand trembled as I read the words. He suggested me to the Dark Lord? Why? He knew what would happen if You-Know-Who accepted me.

It didn't matter. Father was right. I did have a job to do, and either way, I was chosen for it. I had to do it today.

I had hardened my resolve to kill Dumbledore that morning as we went back to the common room to gather money and other things we might need for the Hogsmeade trip.

I couldn't do it personally. Not yet. If the plan I had in mind at the time failed, I would try again, but I never planned on killing him face-to-face unless I was left with no alternative. I didn't want to watch him die. My guilt was already making my stomach hurt again.

I carefully hid the packaged necklace inside my suit jacket and pulled on my long black overcoat, as I mentally rehearsed my plan.

A girl would have to deliver it to him. It was less suspicious for a woman to deliver a necklace than a man. I would cast the Imperius Curse-the least draining of the Unforgivable Curses-from behind her so she couldn't see who cursed her. The girl would deliver the necklace to Dumbledore, and I would release the curse I placed on her. The Headmaster would open the wrappings and as soon as he touched the case, he would be ripped apart.

* * *

I avoided my friends the entire trip to Hogsmeade. I didn't need any questions about how I was doing or if I wanted to spend time with them. I was already going to do something draining. The last thing I needed was to lie to them.

I would find a girl old enough in the Three Broomsticks. Everyone visited that place at least once during the trips. She had to be at least a Fourth Year. Fourth Years were strong enough to bare the weight of the Curse. Mad-Eye Moody proved that well enough.

I rushed into the Three Broomsticks and quickly shrugged off my snow-dusted overcoat, hanging it on a hook by the door.

I scanned the room to see if a girl of the right age was there, and sure enough, there were plenty.

I weaved my way passed a babbling Slughorn and the other patrons and was about to cross to the lavatories to wait for a girl to walk by, when Potter spotted me as he was sitting down with Granger and Weasley. I froze in place.

He was watching me. He must suspect me of something. Why else would he stare at me like that?

If Potter saw me disappear into the girls' lavatory and then have a girl walk out with a cursed necklace, I would be his only suspect. He would catch me and turn me in. I wouldn't kill Dumbledore, and I wouldn't repair the Cabinet.

He would kill me.

The tremor in my hand reminded me that I had a job to do, and I couldn't let anything get in the way of that.

I bowed my head and quickly disappeared around the corner and into the boys' lavatory, leaving the door open a crack. I watched as Potter's two friends argued about something, and eventually, Slughorn came by their table. "Hey, my boy!" he exclaimed.

"Hello, sir! Wonderful to see you," Potter responded just as loudly as the professor, standing from his chair.

That was my chance.

I swiftly exited the lavatory and slipped into the girls', hiding myself in a corner out of view of both the door and the mirror. I didn't have to wait long before a Sixth Year entered. I couldn't remember her first name, but I thought her last name was Bell. Either way, it didn't matter.

I drew my wand as she approached me, and muttered, "Imperio."

A mist extended out of the end of my wand and overtook the Bell girl, making her freeze. Once I was sure she was fully controlled, I left my hiding place and pulled out the packaged necklace from inside my suit.

"You must deliver this to Professor Dumbledore and no one else," I instructed, giving her the parcel after I made sure it was securely wrapped. I didn't want her to die, after all.

The girl dutifully took the parcel and exited the bathroom with me following close behind. I ducked behind her and wormed my way through the other patrons so no one would notice me.

I sat at an empty table hidden in a darkened corner, far off from the other customers and ordered a butterbeer. It got to me in a minute or so, and I fixed my gaze out the window, closing my eyes so I could keep track of the Bell Girl's movements. Things seemed to be going well, but the girl's friend kept interrogating her, trying to get her to reveal what was inside the parcel.

"Katie, you don't know what it could be," the friend warned. "You shouldn't touch it."

Katie's friend moved in front of her, but because of the Curse I placed on Katie, she was so narrow-sighted that she didn't notice and ran straight into her friend, dropping the package I gave her.

The wrappings had come loose, and Katie bent over to pick up the parcel.

She touched the edge of the necklace and the curse in the jewelry took hold, forcing away my Imperious Curse.

"No," I muttered under my breath as I opened my eyes. "That can't be. She was supposed to…" I had to get out of there.

I dropped the payment for the butterbeer on the table and rushed out of the shop.

"Malfoy!" someone called, making me look up from the snow-covered ground. It was Goyle.

"What?" I yelled over the howling wind.

"We've got to go!" he answered. "Something happened to Katie Bell, and all the professors have ordered us back to the castle! Where's your coat?"

I glanced at him in confusion then looked down at myself. I hadn't noticed I had left my coat at the Three Broomsticks.

"Doesn't matter!" I shouted back. "Let's just go! We probably don't have time to go back and get it!"

Goyle nodded and we both started back for the carriages that would take us back to the castle.

* * *

The news about Katie Bell spread quickly through the whole school, and we all got the rest of the day off because of it. The teachers needed to investigate or something like that.

I used that time to respond to my father's letter in the relative privacy of the boys' dormitory. I wrote it in the same code that he used to right to me this morning and hid the information about what happened that day:

_Father,_

_I have made some progress with the Cabinet. From what I can tell, the pathway is almost formed and holding steady. I just need to run some tests on it to see if it can still be used as a transport. I'll try objects first. Then maybe a plant and see if it can survive the trip. Then something like an animal to see if complex life can still pass through._

_I did recently make an attempt on my target's life, but I have failed. I Cursed a girl to get her to send him the cursed necklace I brought with me, but her friend prevented her from doing so, and she accidentally touched the necklace._

_I don't know what has become of the girl, but I heard that she was transported to a real hospital, and is no longer in the school._

_She didn't see me when I Cursed her, so she won't be able to name me as the one who made her do it, but I did fail._

_I'm sorry, Father._

_Draco_


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning, I sat apart from my friends as they babbled and ate their breakfast. I couldn't bring myself to even put something on my plate, let alone eat. My mind was too focused on other things.

I was going to get caught. Potter saw me. He suspected me.

I didn't know what to do. The only thing I had left to kill Dumbledore was some poison, but I couldn't use it yet. The security around the Headmaster would be raised considering that someone tried to give him a cursed necklace, and if that poison failed, I would have to do it personally.

The owls and other messenger birds squawked as the entered, the same cream-coloured bird from the day before landing in front of me. I gently unhooked the letter from the owl's leg and gave him a piece of bread, taking a deep breath of preparation before opening the letter.

As I suspected, it was from Father, and hidden under the code, he was very angry:

_How could you fail? We trained you well enough. You passed every test. I_ _understand that you might still be feeling the effects of the weeks before school, but I expected you to be recovered enough by now._

_You have enough time to try again before they come, but if he's not dead by then, someone else will do it for you, and trust me, you will not like the results if that happens._

_Father_

I slowly lowered the letter onto the table. My hand was shaking uncontrollably. I had to kill Dumbledore and fix that Cabinet before they came. If I didn't, I was going to die.

* * *

After that morning, I only returned to the Great Hall for a few minutes to create an alibi before disappearing to the Room of Requirement. For weeks, the Room was the only place I went during breaks in the school day.

I skipped every meal, and only ate enough to dispel my hunger pains. I spent my time doing something more productive than eating, and I planned on continuing my work the morning of Weasley's first Quidditch match as Keeper. That is, until my friends said that they noticed me absences.

"Now, you're coming to breakfast, and you're eating at least a piece of toast," Pansy ordered as we left the common room.

I didn't say anything. I knew I needed to eat, but I couldn't bring myself to. I was too worried about the Cabinet and my plan to kill Dumbledore. I had to do both, and I only had so much time to do so.

"And you're coming to the match, as well," Blaise added while Crabbe and Goyle ran ahead to the Great Hall. "No sneaking off. One of us will notice."

My friends forced me inside the Hall and into a seat at the Slytherin table. I waited for them to be distracted enough with their conversations and food before I slid down a place. I should have worked on the Cabinet and ignored my friends, but Pansy and Blaise were watching me and would have probably noticed if I had left.

"Hey, Malfoy!" Crabbe laughed, hitting me in the shoulder to get my attention. "Doesn't Weasley look ridiculous?" he laughed gesturing towards the doors of the Hall.

The redhead stood awkwardly at in the doorway, looking scared to death in his Quidditch gear. The gear was clunky and a little too big for him. He was terribly pale and looked like he was on the brink of losing his breakfast before he even ate it.

"Yeah," I fake chuckled. "Ridiculous."

Crabbe returned his attention to his food and mocked Weasley with Goyle for the remainder of breakfast.

After a while, the students started to file out to the Quidditch pitch, and I took the opportunity to slip away, but before I could, Blaise caught me by the back of my collar. "Oh, no you don't, Malfoy," he laughed. "You're coming to the match."

I groaned as he dragged me off with the rest of the crowd.

* * *

I sat as rigid as the cold air on the frozen stands, the deafening cheering of the audience blending into nothing but white noise to fit the whitened surroundings.

It was winter and almost time for Christmas break. I would have to go home to my father and tell him my failures in person, and who knows what they would do to me because of those failures. They might "train" me again. I couldn't go through that for a second time.

"Can you believe it, Malfoy?" Crabbe shouted. "Weasley won the whole match! He blocked every single shot!"

Glancing down to the Quidditch Pitch confirmed what he said. Hundreds of students of every House--except Slytherin--were on the field, lifting Potter and his friend above them and shouting in celebration.

"Yeah," I mumbled distractedly. "It bites."

I quickly rose and left with the other members of Slytherin House, trying to put as much distance as possible between myself and my friends, so I could escape and work with the Cabinet some more. It worked well enough, and I was able to slip off to the Room of Requirement. I was almost done. Just a few more spells, and the pathway would be repaired. After that, all I had to do was test it. It wasn't enough to fix the path. I had to be sure that it could transport life. I would be an even bigger failure otherwise.

I spent the rest of the day in the Room. It was the weekend, so we didn't have class, and no one cared that I was absent for the day. That was proven when I left the Room and joined the other students just after dinner. The rest of Slytherin House, including my friends, asked me how I enjoyed dinner and complained about the Quidditch loss. They didn't even notice that I had left.

The last thing I needed was time spent with people who didn't care, so I slipped off again and retreated to the Astronomy Tower, leaning over the railing and stared at the ground far below.

" _I might just pitch myself off of the Astronomy Tower if I thought I had to continue for another two years."_

While everyone else was either celebrating a win or complaining about a loss, I was left with nothing. They had their marks to worry about, and in a way, so did I, but in my case, both a pass and a failure meant death.

I tapped my father's ring against the metal railing, the clanging echoing though the night. It was supposed to make him feel close to me, but I felt the opposite. I had no one, and based on my last correspondence with my father, I didn't have him either.


	11. Chapter 11

I finished it. The path was formed, and the Cabinet was repaired, but I didn't know if the passage would hold. I left it alone for a few days to see if it would remain stable. I didn't want to put undue stress on it. I checked up on it every day for a week, and the magical pathway never faltered. It was time to test it, but with the mid-term exams coming up, I had no time. I was overloaded with school work, and some of my friends wanted my help with studies, which was ironic because they wanted help with  _Defense Against_  the Dark Arts.

Word quickly spread that Professor Slughorn's Slug Club was throwing a Christmas party for its members, and I used that as a distraction. Most of the professors would be there, and many of the students were either invited, plus-ones or waiters for the party, so the halls would be empty.

I swiped an apple from the dinner table, and as the other students filed back to their common rooms to get ready, I moved to the decorated hall near the room that the party as being held in, the Room of Requirement residing in the corridor just above it. I took shelter behind a column as students began to appear and waited for the last of the invited students and their dates to head in.

I had to wait for an hour before Potter finally arrived with his date. I still can't believe that he took the Lovegood girl.

"I've never been to this part of the castle. At least not while awake," she said dreamily. "I sleepwalk, you see. That's why I wear shoes to bed."

I chuckled softly at her entertaining ridiculousness as they passed, disappearing around the corner and into the loud party.

I took the chance and came out of my hiding place, ascending the stairs to the other corridor and coming to the wall that would form the Room's doors. I closed my eyes and summoned the Room, the two birds tweeting loudly in their twin cages.

I tossed the apple up and down in my anxiety as I entered, pleading that it would work. I quickly found the Cabinet and ripped its patterned covering off, letting it fall to the floor. I opened the creaking doors and placed the apple on the floor of the Cabinet, locking it inside.

I closed my eyes and focused on the Cabinet's spell. "Harmonia Nectere Passus," I whispered, forcing the apple through the passageway I had formed.

A whooshing sound came from the Cabinet, and I snapped my eyes open, a spark of hope lighting inside of me.

I cautiously opened the Cabinet doors, praying that my hope wasn't in vein.

The Vanishing Cabinet was empty. It had worked, but making something disappear wasn't enough. It had to come back, too.

I sealed the Cabinet doors once again, and shut my eyes, reciting the spell. The first time, it had no effect. The apple stayed in the other Cabinet, and I almost panicked. I muttered the spell again, picturing myself dragging the apple through the passage.

After a moment, the same whooshing sound came again and I quickly opened my eyes and clicked the Cabinet doors open.

The apple had returned, and I picked it up to examine it. There were no signs of damage other than the bite taken out of it. That was the signal that we had arranged. It had gotten through.

The corners of my mouth twitched upwards, and I took a bite on the other side of the apple in celebration.

It tasted so good. That was the first time in in weeks that I actually noticed my hunger.

But I couldn't finish my reward. The time passed a lot more quickly than I thought it would, and it was much more difficult getting out than going in. Patrols from the professors and other staff were minimalistic getting to the Room of Requirement because of the party, but it was halfway through that party, now, so the security was much higher.

I took one last bite of the sour green apple before I tossed it to a random place in the Room. The apple crashed into a wall of junk, dislodging several small pieces as I exited.

"Malfoy!" a voice called as the Room's doors disappeared.

I turned to find Filch charging towards me, grabbing my upper arm once he got to me. "Sick again, are you?" he demanded, a little saliva flying off of his mouth. "No friends this time, I see. You're coming with me."

"Hey! I was heading to Slughorn's party! I was invited." I protested, quickly thinking up a story.

"Oh, really?" Filch wondered. "Well then, let's be sure you get there."

Filch marched off, his hand still gripping my arm. It didn't take long for him to tow me into Slughorn's party. "Get your hands off me, you filthy Squib!" I shouted as we entered, trying to pry my arm from his hold with my shaking hand.

All the action in the party froze, and everyone turned towards us.

"Professor," Filch addressed as Slughorn approached to see what the commotion was. "I found this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party."

"Okay, okay. I was gate crashing!" I conceded, changing my story before I could panic. I couldn't get caught. "Happy?"

Snape calmly walked up to us, cutting through the party's tension like a knife. "I'll escort him out."

Filch tossed my arm away as I looked up at Snape. "Certainly. Professor," I agreed. I spit the last word, though I couldn't have been happier to leave that room.

Snape walked briskly out of the party with me at his side, leading me down the next hall.

He told me not to tell him anything I do, but I had to get it off of my chest. "Maybe I did hex that Bell girl," I breathed. "Maybe I didn't. What's it to you?"

Out of nowhere, Snape rushed at me, pressing my back into the rough stone wall. "I swore to protect you," he hissed. "I made the Unbreakable Vow."

"I don't need protection. I was chosen for this. Out of all others. Me," I responded, desperately trying to hide my fear. "I will not fail him."

"You're afraid, Draco," Snape countered, seeing something my own father never could. "You attempt to conceal it, but it is obvious. Let me assist you."

"No!" I quietly protested, pushing him off. "I was chosen. This is my moment."

Now, I regret refusing Snape's help, but back then, I didn't think I needed it.


	12. Chapter 12

Christmas break came much too quickly. I had to go home. I had to face my aunt, my father and the other Death Eaters. Report on my failures.

My hand did nothing but tremble the entire train ride to the Platform. When the others in my compartment left to buy something from the trolley, I held my shaking hand up to the window to examine it in a better light.

What was this? It happened whenever I thought of the other Death Eaters, my father or what I had to do. If I wasn't focused on something, actually working on the Cabinet or formulating a plan to kill Dumbledore, my hand would shake. Occasionally during class, when we cast spells, flashes of memory would come to the forefront of my mind, and my hand would tremble, sending my aim askew or making me mess up the spell entirely. It was almost always during DADA in front of Snape. He looked at me disapprovingly when it happened, which made my tremor worse.

"Do you want something, Mister Malfoy?" the lady from the trolley called, drawing my attention.

I was about to decline when my stomach quietly grumbled, sending a spear of pain through my torso.

I looked back up at her and nodded, taking out a small sack of coins from my pocket. I didn't care what I got just as long as it was savory rather than sweet.

* * *

"Glad to have you home, Draco," Mother greeted, drawing me into her arms.

I leaned into her, overwhelmed with an emotion I hadn't felt in a while. It's been so long that I could scarcely name it. Before that emotion could break through to the outside, I backed away from her. "Got to get my trunk," I said, rushing away.

I retrieved my case quickly from the pile of others' things and turned to leave but found my pathway blocked by Potter who narrowed his eyes slightly at the sight of me. "Malfoy," he spat.

"Potter," I returned. "Your nose is looking better."

He laughed sardonically before shoving me out of the way to retrieve his trunk. "Have you heard from Katie Bell recently?" he asked, making me look back at him.

"Who? That girl who got hexed at Hogsmeade?" I wondered, feigning ignorance with a slight shake of my head. "No. Why would I? I hadn't even heard of her until what happened at Hogsmeade."

"It's all right," Potter said, abruptly leaving the luggage pile and joining the Weasleys.

* * *

A few days after I arrived home, my mother, father and I were having a family dinner when my father finally asked me what I have been dreading since before break even began. "Have you made a second attempt?"

"I plan to," I explained, swirling my pasta-filled soup around my bowl.

"How?" Father wondered.

"Poison," I answered. "Professor Slughorn has a bottle of mead that's wrapped like a gift. I just noticed it the day before break began, so I'll find an opportunity to poison it when we get back."

"How can you be sure it's meant for Dumbledore?" Father inquired, swallowing a spoonful of his soup.

"Slughorn was writing a note addressed to him," I responded. "And he said he was going on some kind of holiday during break, so I don't think he's going to be able to give it to him until term resumes."

The three of us sat in an uncomfortable silence of the rest of dinner. I had no idea what to say or if I should say anything at all. Half of me was glad for the quiet, but the other half of me was filled to the brim with nerves that were coiling tighter and tighter the longer the silence persisted.

I was overjoyed later that night when I was allowed to retreat to my room. As I was getting ready for bed, a knock sounded at my door. "Come in," I answered, slipping the last button into its slot on my night shirt.

"Draco?"

"Yes, Father?" I called, leaving my private bathroom.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes," I responded, confused. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just didn't eat much at dinner," he answered.

"I'm not hungry."

"But you look like you are," Father warned.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, Draco, but you don't look healthy. You look like you haven't slept in weeks, and your clothes are hanging off of you like drapes."

Simultaneously confused and curious, I opened my one of my wardrobe's doors and looked myself over in the full-length mirror on the inside, and sure enough, I looked exhausted and underweight. My cheekbones were sharper than they ever were before, and there were half-moons under my eyes that were so dark that they looked black.

"Are you okay, Draco?" Father repeated, getting me to look at him. "And don't just say that you are to get rid of me, but answer honestly."

After a moment, I slowly answered, "Not really." I cast my gaze to the floor. "I couldn't eat anything for the first few weeks after I got to school. I threw up whatever I ate, and I couldn't sleep for the same reason. My friends noticed and dragged me to see Madame Pomphrey, and she gave me a tonic that helped."

"C-can you keep food down now?" my father stuttered as he came closer to me.

"Yeah. I just don't feel like eating."

"So don't eat big meals. Eat a few small things throughout the day," Father instructed, and I nodded in response.

"So, you would wake up in the middle of the night to throw up?" my father asked after a moment of silence.

"Sometimes," I answered.

"And other times?"

I hesitated as my mind drifted back to my various nightmares, my hand beginning to tremble again. I turned towards my father and put my hands behind my back, grabbing my right hand with my left and squeezing it.

"Draco?" he asked again, a note of warning in his voice.

"I just can't sleep," I answered.

"Why?" he pressed.

I looked down again, squeezing my hand harder as the tremor worsened.

"Nightmares?" Father asked.

I didn't answer, but it seemed that he took my silence as a "yes" because he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and said, "You know you don't have to be worried. I have total faith in you. You will repair the Cabinet and kill Dumbledore. So you failed once." He lifted his hand and waved it in the air in dismissal. "You can always try again. You have plenty of time."

I glanced up at him and smiled gently. He patted my shoulder and left my room.

He was trying to be encouraging, but the only thing he succeeded in doing was making my heart hammer against my chest.

Father had faith in me, but what would happen if I failed? I didn't hate my father, but we weren't all that close. Becoming a Death Eater seemed to have brought us a lot closer than before, but if I failed, would he hate me?

* * *

_Dumbledore fell at my feet, choking on the poison I slipped into his drink. I laughed in a sick sort of pleasure as he died._

" _You really think you can kill me, Draco?" he mocked, rising to his feet._

" _No," I whispered stumbling back a few steps. "I killed you."_

" _No, you didn't," he laughed. "You failed."_

_With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore Apparated away, and I was left alone until my father shouted my name._

" _How could you fail?" Father demanded, gripping both of my arms. "I put my faith in you!"_

" _I tried, Father," I pleaded._

" _But you did not succeed," he countered, pushing me to the floor._

* * *

I sat straight up in bed with a shout, my heart beating so hard that it was like a drum in my ear. I threw my covers off and quickly left my room, needing fresh air.

I think the worst part about that dream was that I enjoyed it. I enjoyed killing my Headmaster.

But then there was my father. He hated me for my failure.

But it was just a dream. It wouldn't happen in reality. It couldn't. Father would still care for me if I failed, right?

"He's scared, Lucius," a soft voice commented as I passed the front room of our manor, making me freeze.

"What makes you say that?" my father's voice shouted quietly.

"His hand shakes," the other man answered. "He can barely cast spells in class."

I moved closer to the wall and craned my neck around the open door to find Professor Snape conversing with my father.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Father questioned harshly. "As if your hands are perfectly steady."

"They are more steady than your son's," Snape countered. "Everyone can see his tremor. It's only in one hand, and it only happens at certain times."

"Such as?"

"When he reads your letters in the morning. When he's afraid," Snape explained. "He was brought into one of the professors' Christmas party. I assume he was working on the Cabinet, but his right hand was shaking, and he looked terrified."

"That doesn't mean anything," my father retorted. "He was probably just scared that he would be caught."

"And you know what that would mean, yes?" Snape interrogated.

My father looked down at the floor and didn't say anything in response, his breathing growing visibly shaky.

When Father continually remained silent, Snape answered his own question. "The Dark Lord  _will_  kill him if he does not succeed."

"Then help him," Father quietly snapped glancing back up at Snape.

"I can only offer so much help. The Dark Lord still wants me inside the school, so I cannot be seen helping your son repair a Vanishing Cabinet that can pass through the schools protections. There is no telling the consequences that would befall both of us. And he continually refuses my help. I offered it to him before Christmas break began, but he refused it."

"Then help him anyway," Father countered. "I don't care if the Dark Lord loses his inside man. I will  _not_ let him kill my son."

"The Dark Lord will kill you if you stand in his way," Snape reminded, something akin to sadness in his voice. "And you would only manage to give your son a few extra minutes of life. He will not hesitate to kill you both. No matter how much you plead with him."

"Then I hope Draco will cherish those few extra minutes. I refuse to let anyone kill my son."

I ran back to my room, an ice cold fear tightening my chest.

I was right. You-Know-Who would kill me if I failed, and I had already failed once.

I had to try again. As soon as term resumed.


	13. Chapter 13

The first day that term resumed, I stayed back after Potions Class had ended. Slughorn shook hands with students at the door and said goodbye to each of them. I waited until Potter, Weasley and Granger had left the classroom before silently moving towards the professor's desk and quickly searched for the gift-wrapped bottle meant for Dumbledore.

I almost panicked because of how long I spent searching for it. The class had almost entirely vanished from the room by the time I found it hidden away in a drawer and pulled it out. I placed it on top of the desk and swiftly unwrapped the neck of the bottle. I pulled the stopper out and reached into the pocket of my robes for the vial of poison inside. I uncapped the vial and poured all of its contents into the bottle of mead. I picked up the gift and swirled the bottle to mix the poison so it wouldn't be detected. Once I had finished, I put the cork back into the opening of the bottle, pulled out my wand repaired the wrapping I had undone. I replaced the bottle where I had found it and left Slughorn's desk. All of the students had gone and the professor was closing the door, surely thinking that all of his students had left.

"Oh. Mister Malfoy," he greeted, realizing I was still in the room. "I thought you had gone."

"I thought I had forgotten something," I covered.

"And did you?" he questioned.

"Yes, sir," I answered. "But I've got it, now."

"Yes. Good. Well it's best you get to your next class," Slughorn instructed, gesturing towards the door.

"Yes, sir," I said, rushing out of the classroom.

I couldn't sleep for days. Sooner or later, Dumbledore would drink that poisoned mead and die, Slughorn might die, too. I was jumpy and on edge, my stomach turning to knots every time I saw Slughorn or Dumbledore, but a few days later word passed around that Weasley was poisoned and in the school's hospital, but that couldn't be. That bottle was clearly meant for Dumbledore, so how could Weasley get his hands on it? He wasn't supposed to die. I might not have ever liked Weasley, but I never wished for him to die.

I stayed behind after Potions class again to ask Slughorn what he knew about it. He either knew nothing or everything, but if he knew everything I would have been arrested for attempted murder. And it wouldn't hurt my conscience to ask how Ron was doing.

"Well, Mister Malfoy, I don't know exactly what happened. Mister Potter came to me late at night with Mister Weasley in tow saying that his friend had somehow taken a very powerful love potion. I helped him and make an antidote. It worked but then Weasley said that he felt ill, and I thought that some sort or pick-me-up would help him, so I poured the three of us a glass of mead. Mister Weasley drank before Mister Potter and myself, and then he was on the floor."

"So you don't know who could have poisoned him," I interrogated, pleading that he didn't.

"Haven't the foggiest," the professor replied, regret in his voice. "It's odd though."

"What's odd, Professor?" I asked politely, moving the conversation towards where I needed it to be.

"I intended to give that bottle of mead as a gift, and I had it wrapped up as such, and it never left my side," Slughorn voiced. "The wrapping wasn't damaged at all, and the cork was still in place. No one could have poisoned it."

"I'm sorry, Professor," I uttered, finally learning what I needed to. "I hope you figure it out."

"Yes. So do I," Slughorn answered. "You should get to class."

"Yes, sir," I responded, briskly walking out of the door.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a blur. I couldn't focus on anything. All I could think about was Dumbledore.

I had failed again. I had nothing left. Nothing to help me kill him. I had no choice anymore. I had to do it personally. I had to cast a Killing Curse. It was the only thing I could do.

But I couldn't. I didn't want to see him die.

We were finally able to go back to the common room after dinner, and I quickly went to bed with the rest of my friends. I got ready as I normally would, but I was terrified to sleep. There was no doubt in my mind that I would have nightmares, and I didn't know what I would see in them.

* * *

I jolted awake at around two in the morning, drenched in a cold sweat. I can barely remember that nightmare, but it was a swirl of terrifying images and conflicting emotions. I was so scared because of what I had to do, but I wanted to do what I was scared of because the thought of not doing it scared me even more.

I had to kill Dumbledore or the Dark Lord would kill me. My father said that he would protect me, but that would do nothing other than get us both killed.

My chest tightened as my breathing grew shaky. It didn't take long for my eyes to water and silent sobs to begin to wrack my throat. I pulled my knees close to my chest, my comforter draped over my legs. I wrapped my arms around my knees and rested my forehead against them.

I sniffled and choked on sobs. I couldn't wake anyone, but I couldn't keep it contained any longer. I didn't want their questions, but I had nothing left to make me feel better. Nothing could help, and nothing would until it was over.


	14. Chapter 14

A few weeks later, Weasley was out of the hospital and came to Potions like nothing was wrong. Potter gave me his usual glare that I didn't have the energy to return as he passed.

"Good morning, class," Slughorn greeted pleasantly. "Good to have you back, Weasley."

"Good to be back, sir," the redhead returned with a small smile.

I turned towards Ron and scanned him up and down. He seemed to be alright. I wanted to apologize, but I couldn't. It would reveal everything if I did.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Weasley demanded heatedly, giving me a hardened glare.

I didn't answer. I looked back to Slughorn as he explained the potion we would practice, guilt making my heart clench.

"Off you go and start!" Slughorn exclaimed waving us away.

I was too distracted to hear the recipe our professor named, so I followed Blaise, grabbed the same ingredients as he did and walked back to our station. I discreetly watched my friend as he flipped to the potion's recipe and turned to the same page in my own textbook.

I didn't care what we were making, but I lazily followed the recipe anyway, my mind anywhere but that class. It drifted from one thing to the next, never lingering on one topic for more than a minute.

"Careful, Malfoy!" Blaise exclaimed, grabbing my wrist. I looked up at him and found him staring at me with fear. "You almost just cut your wrist!" my friend yelled, his grip tightening.

"Everything alright here?" Slughorn asked as he approached us, his eyebrows drawn together.

"Everything's fine," I answered calmly, releasing my knife and gently prying my wrist free of Blaise's grasp.

"Yeah," Blaise reluctantly agreed. "Just fine."

Thankfully, Slughorn nodded and walked off, though he kept throwing worry-filled glances our way.

"What were you doing, Malfoy?" Blaise whispered with concern.

"I don't know," I answered, mimicking his volume. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Well, you should, considering that we're handling knives," Blaise warned, looking at me pointedly.

As if in agreement, the sound of an explosion came from Finnigan's station, leaving him looking dazed and covered in soot as the tips of his hair caught fire.

I smirked in amusement and turned to Blaise. "At least I'm paying more attention than him."

Blaise chuckled quietly and turned his attention back to his potion.

After class, I skipped lunch and went to work on the Cabinet in the Room of Requirement. It was almost ready. The apple got through fine, but the apple wasn't technically alive. I had to use the one of the birds in the nearby double cage as a test subject.

I gently opened the cages and used an Accio charm to prevent the animal from escaping. I cupped my hand and carefully covered the creature with my other hand.

Footsteps echoed behind me in the corridor, and I instantly turned to face the direction of the sound. The tip of a black robe quickly disappeared around a corner, and I stood there for a moment, pleading that whoever that robe belonged to was just passing through.

After several moments of seeing no one, I relaxed a little and resumed my walk to the Room of Requirement. I threw cautious glances behind me to make sure no one was following, but no matter how much I checked, I never saw anyone. The only footsteps that echoed in the hall were my own.

By the time I reached the Room, I had almost forgotten about my potential follower. My mind had drifted to the Cabinet as I prepared myself for any failures. There were only four possible scenarios. One: everything works out fine. Two: the bird wouldn't go through. In which case, I would have to continue repairing the magical passage between the two Cabinets. Three: the bird would go through and not come back and get lost in oblivion. Four: The bird goes through but doesn't survive.

Anything would have been better than scenario four.

I opened the Cabinet and released the bird on it's floor. I sealed the door and spotted one of the animal's feathers clinging to the sleeve of my robe. I plucked it off of my clothes and held to the light, inspecting it as I recited the Cabinet's spell in my mind until a sound emitted from the Cabinet.

I opened the door to the Cabinet with caution. I couldn't hear the bird's tweeting, but that could mean that the bird was either dead or had gone to the other Cabinet. I hoped for the latter.

The bird had vanished. So far so good. Things might be looking up.

I closed the door again and shut my eyes, anxiously repeating the spell in my mind again. That same whooshing sound came from the Cabinet and my eyes flew open. I grasped the handle of the Cabinet door with my shaking hand and slowly pulled it down, preparing myself for what I might find inside.

The bird was dead. The small body rested face down on the floor, its white feathers crumpled.

My heart sank to the floor. I didn't understand. I did everything perfectly. The apple went through fine. What did I do wrong?

Before I could stop it, my emotions swelled to an unbearable peak, and I was grateful a was alone. My breathing quickly grew shaky and my sight blurred. I stood there for the rest of the lunch hour leaning against the Cabinet and crying, growing steadily louder until I slid to the floor and brought my knees to my chest.

Eventually, I was able to pick myself up from the floor and close the Cabinet doors, shutting that moment away. I couldn't hide in the Room forever. I had to seem normal. I would fix this.

I had to.

As I moved towards the Room's exit, I spotted myself in a cracked, full-length mirror. I looked like the mess I felt I was. My eyes were red, there were tear streaks running down my face and my hair was sticking up where I had leaned against the Cabinet. I used my sleeves and wiped my eyes, removing the evidence of my tears, then I combed my hair back down with my fingers.

I left the Room and continued on with my day.


	15. Chapter 15

The day after my failure-today, actually-I woke up and laid around in bed for a while, not having the energy to get up. My sleep last night was restless. I woke up at least five times from nightmares. I rolled over and went back to sleep, but nothing I did would make the nightmares stop. I got about three hours of sleep last night.

I was so tired, but I couldn't show it. I couldn't ever show it. Not with my friends, not with my family, and especially not the other Death Eaters.

I was the last person out of bed in my dorm, and I was the last one to leave the common room.

I had to finish that Cabinet. They were coming soon. I didn't know when, but it was soon.

I skipped the first half of breakfast and went to the Room of Requirement. I quickly grabbed the other bird fluttering in the twin cages and brought it to the Room. I rushed to find the Cabinet and didn't bother taking the patterned covering off. I cast a few strong Dark spells on the Cabinet in one last attempt to fix the passage. I cracked open the door and placed the black bird on the floor of the wardrobe. I sealed the door and whispered, "Harmonia Nectere Passus."

The magical sound readily emitted from the Cabinet and I quickly opened the door, finding that the animal had vanished.

I took a deep breath to calm myself as I closed the door again. That happened last time. The bird could still die on its way back.

I muttered the spell again, and the indicating noise came from behind the Cabinet door. I waited for a moment and put a hand to the door, not wanting to open it. I couldn't shake the feeling that the bird had died like the last one.

Quiet tweeting soon greeted me, and it made my heart soar. I had done it. The bird went to the Cabinet in Borgin and Burkes and came straight back. I had fixed the Cabinet.

Finally.

I pulled out my watch and found that there was only a half hour of breakfast left, so I left the Room and quickly made my way to the Great Hall, my relief and gladness making me move faster than I should have.

I thought that this day might finally be a good one, but I was proven wrong when I got to the Great Hall.

Potter stood between two tables talking with a Gryffindor girl, but I didn't think anything of it until I got within earshot of them. "I'm trying to remember, honestly. But I just can't," the girl finished. The girl spotted me behind Potter and leaned around him to get a better look at me, and I recognized her as the girl that I Cursed before Christmas break.

A hint of recognition passed through her eyes, and Potter turned around and glared at me accusingly.

No. They couldn't know. I was too careful.

I glanced around for an escape, but there wasn't any except back the way I came. I rapidly retreated out the doors of the Great Hall before Potter could accuse me of anything. My emerald tie grew suffocatingly tight around my throat, and I loosened it before it could choke off my air.

I couldn't get caught. I would be expelled from Hogwarts and arrested for Cursing Bell, and then the Death Eaters would kill me for failing.

I glanced behind me as my hand flew to my tie again. Why was this thing so tight?

I had finally gotten to the boys' lavatory where I could get a little privacy. There was most likely not going to be anyone in the bathroom because it was breakfast, and that was all I needed right now: to be alone.

My vest suddenly became just as stifling as my tie, so I ripped it off and dropped it on the floor. It instantly became cooler, but it wasn't cool enough. I was dying from the heat of my panic.

I looked up and stared at my own pale face in the mirror.

How did I end up here?

I'm just a kid.

Two years ago, all I had to worry about was who won the Triwizard Tournament. Now, I'm facing death at every turn. Whether I passed or failed, someone was going to die. All I can do is make sure that it's not my family or myself that dies.

But I can't do that if Potter suspects me.

I turned on the water and splashed it in my face to rinse away the lingering emotion, or I tried to.

The emotions inside me bubbled up and spilled over like they did in the Room of Requirement yesterday, but my crying didn't start slow and quiet like yesterday. My tears sprang instantly from my eyes, and loud sobs wracked my throat.

"I know what you did, Malfoy," a familiar voice called making me look behind my reflection in the mirror. "You hexed her, didn't you?" Potter interrogated.

He couldn't be here. He couldn't know. He had to leave.

I flipped around, preparing myself to make him leave, and threw a stunning spell at him, but he dodged, the spell splintering a wooden storage closet instead of hitting him. Potter instantly turned back around and returned the spell, though I managed to turn in time and avoid it. The spell hit a sink, sending a spray of plaster and water in every direction.

I quickly hid behind the row of stalls, wanting nothing more than for Potter to mind his own business. Why couldn't he ever do that? He always poked his head into where it didn't belong.

Potter appeared around the stalls, and I quickly threw another stunning spell at him. He ducked back behind the stalls, avoiding my spell-which hit one of the mirrors and cracked it into a few dozen pieces-and didn't reappear.

After a few seconds of waiting, I went behind the stalls to get out of my vulnerable position. I kneeled down on the floor and scanned the room in search of Potter. I spotted his reflection in a broken mirror, but he quickly vanished.

After a moment, Potter's shadow formed on the floor as he started to kneel down, and soon after that, his arms appeared. Before he could get the chance to even lift his wand, I threw another stunning spell at him that missed and hit a sink pipe, flooding the floor with water.

I couldn't let him gain the upper hand. If I did, he would stun me and report me to either Dumbledore or McGonagall, and who knows what would happen after that.

I quickly stood and rounded the stalls to confront him directly, the bangs of Potter's random shots growing louder with every second.

I reached the last stall at the same time as he did, and before I had raised my wand to stun him, he shouted, "Sectumsempra!"

The unknown spell blasted me to the floor as it tore through me. I had to get up and fight back, but there was too much pain. I was being cut everywhere. My arms, my chest, my stomach. Every part of me burned and ached.

My already heightened emotions piqued again with the pain, forcing its way out in new tears.

How did I end up here?

Ten minutes ago, I was facing death, but now it was here. Half of me was fighting against it, but the other half of me didn't care. Why did I have to fight it? Why should I? If I lived, I would have to kill someone, but if I died, no one would have any problems. Potter and his friends would have an unobstructed path to Voldemort, and they would destroy the him. The world would be better off. No one would take over the school. Dumbledore would live. My parents would be free of him.

But how long would it take Harry, Ron and Hermione to get rid of Voldemort? No one could guess. They could take the rest of our school careers or longer, and the Dark Lord might kill my family, anyway, for my failure.

My family or myself?

Faint splashing sounded somewhere in the room, but it was so echoey that the sound blended with the river of water spewing out of the broken pipes, making it meaningless. Something brushed by me before a slow and hollow voice whispered, "Vulnera Sanentur. Vulnera Sanentur."

I didn't know what the distant words meant, but the more the man repeated them, the more the pain went away, so nothing mattered in the world other than the vanishing pain.

"Malfoy?" the same voice called. "Malfoy?"

I turned my head in the direction of the voice as my eyes fluttered open, and I found the blurred figure of Snape.

"Are you alright?" he echoed.

I didn't have the energy to answer. My eyesight worsened, and for a second I thought that the bathroom was our courtyard at home as a memory of the weeks before school surfaced.

"Focus, Malfoy," Snape hissed, gently slapping my cheek, making the vision of our courtyard disappear.

"What happened?" an unfamiliar voice shouted.

Snape glanced up at the voice and ordered, "Go get Madame Pomphrey."

No response came, but rapid splashing accompanied retreating steps.

I was so tired.

"Wake up, Malfoy!"

My eyes snapped open, and I found that I was being moved, the stone of the arched ceiling flashing by.

"You're gonna be alright, Mister Malfoy," a voice said.

I tried to find the source, but my sight was so blurred that everything ran together, like someone had splashed water over fresh ink. I didn't recognize anyone.

Everything faded as my eyes slipped closed again, and I couldn't open them again for a while. Voices faded in and out of the darkness, their words becoming clearer and clearer, over time.

"...he okay?" a voice asked.

"He'll be fine," a woman answered. "What Professor Snape did saved his life, but who knows what happened to him. You don't know what happened, do you Mister Potter?"

He didn't answer for a moment, and I thought that my awareness had faded again, so I forced my head to turn in the direction of their sound, struggling to get my eyes to open.

Potter's image slowly came into focus, and he turned to me, locking gazes with me for a moment before turning back to the nurse he was talking to.

"No idea," he answered.

"It's alright, Mister Potter," she answered, disappointment lingering in her voice. "I just wanted to know if anyone heard anything. Obviously Mister Malfoy can't answer me."

Potter chuckled halfheartedly and looked over at me again with guilt in his eyes.

"Now, you should go to see the Headmaster. I heard he was looking for you," the healer informed.

"Yes, ma'am," Potter agreed, adjusting his glasses. He glanced at me again before turning to leave.

The nurse turned to me, and I finally recognized her as Madame Pomphrey. Surprise coloured her features as she exclaimed, "Mister Malfoy! You're awake!" The shocked healer approached me and slipped her hands behind my back, helping me to sit up.

I allowed her to gently lift me from the hospital bed and then lean me back onto the pillows. I hissed as a bolt of sharp pain speared me through the chest. I fell onto the pillows and my hand flew to my heart, where it hurt the most.

Madame Pomphrey disappeared for a moment and came back with a glass of water, mixing something into it with a spoon. "Here," she breathed, setting the spoon down on the bedside table. "Drink this."

She pressed the cup to my before I could think and the cooling water slipped down my throat, soothing both my burning throat and the pain in my chest.

The nurse took the cup away, placing it on the table while I leaned back into the pillows again, overjoyed that the pain was easing.

Pomphrey pulled a nearby stool closer to her and took a seat as she asked, "Could you tell me what happened in the bathroom, Mister Malfoy?"

I remembered everything that happened, but I couldn't tell her. It didn't look like Harry knew what that spell did, and that guilt in his eyes a moment ago made it clear that he hadn't meant to hurt me.

"I don't know," I lied, my voice sounding weak and hoarse even to my own ears. "Some student threw a spell at me. There was a lot of pain, but nothing more."

"Do you remember the spell?" the healer inquired.

"Yeah, but I didn't know it," I answered. "Sectum-something."

What was that spell? I couldn't remember exactly what it was, but I had never heard of it before.

"I've never heard a spell beginning with that, either," Pomphrey added. "Well, no use dwelling on it, I suppose. How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Better now that I drank whatever you put in that water," I responded.

"Just a mild painkiller."

"Was that Potter who was just in here?" changing the topic as I raised my head a little. Focusing on the pain made it worse, so talking about something else might lessen it, and Potter was the first thing that came to mind.

"Yes, it was," the nurse answered, her tone lightening a little. "I didn't know you were awake for that."

"Just the end of the conversation," I assured her.

We fell silent for a moment, and I noticed how light it was in the room. I glanced up to the row of windows by the ceiling and found that the sunlight was strong enough to be midday or afternoon. When Potter and I fought, it was morning.

"How long have I been out?" I asked, facing Madame Pomphrey. It was at least a few hours, but it could also be longer than that. I pleaded that it wouldn't be.

"About two days," the healer cautiously answered.

The shock of learning that made my heart jump, but it quickly faded. I was all too used to finding out how long I've been unconscious.

"I should send word to your friends," the madame sighed, rising from the stool. "At least one of them came to visit you before and after every meal to see if you were awake. The only way I could get rid of them and let you rest is by promising to tell them when you woke up."

I tried to laugh, but all I could manage was an amused huff before my chest ached, making me wince.

"I would give you more of that painkiller, but it would make you sleep," Pomphrey offered.

"Nah, that's alright," I refused. "I think I've been asleep long enough."

The healer laughed lightly and walked off towards another nurse.

I leaned back against the pillows again and closed my heavy eyes. Why was I so exhausted? I had slept for two days straight, but I was still tired.

"Wake up, Malfoy," an amused voice laughed, shaking my arm.

I sat up a little and blinked away my exhaustion, looking at the people around me.

"We heard that you woke up, but we come back and find you asleep again," Blaise mocked, struggling to hide his laugh.

"It's good to see you, too, Blaise," I returned, giving him a smirk of my own.

"Are you alright?" Pansy demanded next to me.

"Yeah. What happened?" Crabbe interrogated.

"We were leaving for our first class when one of the professors told us you were in the infirmary," Goyle added.

"I don't know," I sighed, wanting to tell them as little as possible. The less they knew, the better. "Some student threw a weird spell at me in the bathroom. Then I woke up here. That's all I remember."

"Do you know which House he was in?" Blaise asked.

"No," I covered. "There's really not much light in that bathroom."

The group in front of me chuckled before Goyle wondered, "So how long you think you're staying in here?"

"No idea," I answered. "But I'm not too bad. Not even a bruise. Can't be for too long."

"That's where you're wrong, Mister Malfoy," Madame Pomphrey interrupted as she approached us. "You were hit with an unknown spell, and though you may seem fine, you might have internal problems, so you are going to stay here indefinitely until we can determine whether or not you're truly alright."

No. I couldn't stay here. I hadn't killed Dumbledore yet, and they could be coming to take the school any day now.

"No protesting, Malfoy," Pomphrey ordered, looking at me sternly. "You are going to stay here, no questions asked. And your parents have been informed of what's happened, and they fully expect you to stay here and heal."

I fell back down in disappointment. Now my parents know, and by default, so did everyone else. What would happen now?

"Are you alright, Malfoy?" Pansy wondered. "You look a little green."

"I'm fine!" I snapped. They had to leave. I had to talk with my father, and they couldn't be here for that.

Pansy backed away from my bed a few steps and a look of shock came over the others.

Realizing that I scared them, I apologized. "Sorry, guys," I whispered. "I'm just tired."

"Yes, he is," Madame Pomphrey agreed waving her arms towards the door. "You should all head to lunch and let Mister Malfoy rest."

My friends didn't protest and silently moved out the door.

"I shouldn't have yelled at them," I muttered after they had gone.

"It's alright, Mister Malfoy. You've been under a lot of stress lately," Madame Pomphrey dismissed.

I glanced at her as she passed my bed and whispered, "You have no idea."

A moment later Pomphrey returned with a bowl of green gelatin and a spoon. "Bon appetit, Mister Malfoy," she sighed.

I raised a questioning eyebrow at her. She couldn't be serious. I was starving, and I had to eat this?

Pomphrey chuckled at my look. "You better get used it, Mister Malfoy. You're going to get the same thing for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow."

I sighed and took the bowl from her.


	16. Chapter 16

"An owl came for you, Mister Malfoy," Madame Pomphrey announced the next morning.

I looked up from the books and notes my friends brought me after dinner last night and found the healer extending the letter out to me. I thanked her and took the note.

My hand shook as I slowly broke the wax seal of my family crest on the letter. What would it say? It would surely reprimand me for getting injured and not being able to kill Dumbledore. What else could it be?

The letter wasn't encoded. It was exactly as it read. There wasn't any underlying message.

_Draco,_

_Are you alright? Madame Pomphrey wrote to us about what had happened and yesterday and that you were finally awake. If you are able to write to us, tell us what happened. Your mother and I were terrified when we had heard. We just need to hear what happened and how you're doing from your own mouth._

_Father_

_Draco,_

_What really happened? Madame Pomphrey only told us that you were hit with an unknown spell in the lavatory._

_But overall, what happened doesn't really matter. You are to put aside any work you have, and do as Madame Pomphrey instructs until you get better. No school work or extracurricular activities. Just rest._

_I wish you the best, Draco. Please get better._

_Mother_

They wanted to know if I was alright. That was it. Not even Father wanted to know anything else.

One of the other school nurses passed by. "Excuse me," I called, getting her to pause and look back at me. "You don't know if it's possible for me to write back, do you?" I wondered, gesturing to the letter.

The nurse debated for a moment before nodding. "I'll get you a pen, ink and some parchment," she told me before walking off. When she returned, she had a thin roll of parchment, an old quill and a small ink well that she placed on the bedside table.

I thanked her and received a nod in response. I closed my books as she took her leave, then grabbed each of the items she placed on the table. I placed one of the thicker textbooks on the bed covers in front of me, unrolled the parchment on top of the book and carefully dipped the quill into the ink.

The letter would require a bit of code if I wanted to tell them exactly what had happened. Otherwise the letter would be all over the Daily Prophet if the owl delivering it was intercepted.

_Mother and Father,_

_I'm doing better. I was unconscious for two days, but nothing bad has happened since. As for what really happened, well, it wasn't good._

_I went to the Great Hall for breakfast, and I found Potter talking with the girl I had Cursed as a way to kill Dumbledore. She said that she couldn't remember who cursed her, but then she saw me and gave me an odd look, like she did remember me._

_Before she could get any more suspicious, I left the Hall and went to the bathroom to wait until she had forgotten again. Little did I know that Potter had followed me. He made it clear that he suspected me of hexing her. He threw a stunning spell at me, and I returned it. The fight continued for several minutes until Potter rounded a corner and shouted a spell that I had never heard before._

_When it had hit me, it felt like my skin was being shredded. I was bleeding from everywhere, and I thought I was going to die I started to black out after a while, but I think it was Snape that came. He kept repeating a different spell, but I had never heard of that one either._

_I don't remember much after that._

_Thank you for checking up on me._

_Draco_

I looked up from the letter in time to see Madame Pomphrey walk by. I called to her and got her to come back towards my bed. "I'm sure I'm not allowed anywhere near the Owlery or hot wax, so could you send this to my parents for me?" I mocked, still smiling from the fact that my parents wanted to know how I was.

"Yes, I will, Mister Malfoy," Pomphrey agreed with a smile, taking the letter from me and walking off again.

Later in the day, I had fallen asleep again but was woken up by a hand gently shaking my shoulder. I groaned in annoyance. This was the best I had slept all year. Who in their right mind was waking me up?

I rolled over and sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I glanced to the bedside to find Potter standing next to me looking worried. I gave him an incredulous look. What was he doing here?

"I'm just checking up on you, Malfoy," he told me, raising his hands in a pacifying gesture. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," I spat. Just because I know Potter didn't mean to hurt me, doesn't mean that I want him here.

"I know you're angry with me, but I wanted to thank you for not turning me in," he said, taking a seat on the nearby stool.

"I don't think you meant to hurt me," I whispered. "Did you even know what spell you hit me with?"

"No," Potter breathed, looking thoughtful. "I found it in an old potions book."

"You know who owned it?" I questioned, faintly hoping that I could figure something out.

"Not really," he answered. "The inside cover said 'This book is property of the Half-Blood Prince'."

"Who on Earth is the Half-Blood Prince?" I asked, my curiosity piqued. "And how could he create a spell like that?"

"No idea."

We both fell into an uncomfortable silence for a while until it became a bit too uncomfortable for me. "So, if you didn't know who came up with the spell or what the spell was for, why did you use it on me?" I questioned.

I knew Potter greatly disliked me and that he suspected either me or my family of causing every bad thing that happened in the school, but Potter has a strong moral code. I didn't think his hatred for me was so great that he'd use an unknown and dangerous spell on me.

Potter hesitated, making my heart beat faster in anxiety. Maybe I judged him wrong.

He took a deep breath, as if preparing himself to answer and muttered, "I-it was labeled 'for enemies' in the book."

"'For enemies'," I clarified, receiving a nod in answer. "Because of that Bell girl?" Potter nodded again. I sighed and told him, "I didn't Curse her. I don't even know her."

"Then why'd you try to stun me when I questioned you about her? You tense up whenever I even mention her," Potter interrogated.

It was my turn to hesitate. I had no answer. I could tell him that I was simply on edge, but then he would ask what I was nervous about. I could come up with something for that, too, but he might continue to press me. Potter was infamous for asking questions about things he shouldn't.

"Shouldn't you be in class, Mister Potter?" a low voice slowly interjected, saving me from having to answer.

I looked over Potter's shoulder to find Snape gliding towards us. Potter followed my gaze and stood up from the stool once he realized who was here with us.

"Actually, sir, I was on my way to see Professor Dumbledore," Potter corrected.

"Then I suggest you go and do that," the professor quietly ordered, raising a stern eyebrow at Potter.

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed before walking out of the infirmary.

"Are you feeling better?" Snape asked once Harry was fully out of the door.

"Yes, fine," I answered.

I glanced down at my sheets as Madame Pomphrey's half-remembered words came to mind. " _What Professor Snape did saved his life."_

Taking a short breath I mutter a quick, "Thanks."

"I had to, Mister Malfoy," Snape responded. "I came to your aid to fulfill the Vow."

I nodded, knowing that he would have no other reason to come and see me.


	17. Chapter 17

The next morning, Pomphrey came to my bed, cheerily saying that my parents had responded to my letter, but I was nervous about what I would find beyond the wax seal. I was always nervous. I hoped that it would be like the one I received yesterday, but that wasn't likely.

I always thought of leaving the letters they sent me unopened and never finding out what they had to say, but I couldn't. They would have instructions, warnings and reminders that I had to pay heed to. I would miss something important pertaining to the Dark Lord or the other Death Eaters.

So I still opened the letters, always faintly hoping it would just be a letter from my parents that had no codes involved.

_Draco,_

_We're so glad to hear that you are doing better. We have both been worried sick._

_We don't know what progress you've made with the Cabinet, but what you have done will have to be enough. They're coming tomorrow night. They will take the school. You need to kill Dumbledore by midnight tomorrow. I've said it to you before, but I will repeat it now: you will not like the consequences if you don't._

_Father_

Tomorrow? How would they come tomorrow? The Cabinet was finished, yes, but I didn't know if it could transport human life.

And Dumbledore was still alive. The Dark Lord would kill me if I couldn't kill Dumbledore by tomorrow night. The only thing I had left to use was a Killing Curse. If Voldemort didn't kill me, that Curse might, especially since I was already weak from Potter's spell.

I had one day left to get back to full health, so that Curse wouldn't do me in. Just one day.


	18. Chapter 18

I tried my best to sleep the day away so I could get stronger, but I couldn't. I tossed and turned for hours, but I never slept. I tried to eat the food Pomphrey gave me, but my hand was shaking so much that I couldn't even hold the utensil.

I laid awake the whole day, my heart pounding with nervous anticipation, but when it reached eleven thirty at night, my time was up. They would be here in a half hour. I had to kill him.

"Goodnight, Mister Malfoy," Madame Pomphrey sighed quietly as she passed by.

I didn't answer, but I watched her as she retreated into another room. Once her door was closed, I rose from my bed and crossed the hospital room to the wardrobe where they told me my clothes and wand were stored. I changed as quickly as my trembling hand would allow and grabbed my wand.

Thunder rumbled outside as I left the infirmary. I forced myself to walk slowly so no one would suspect me of anything, but I still scoffed when the babbling of a group of students reached my ears.

They were laughing and making jokes, hitting each other playfully on the shoulder. They had no idea what was about to happen, but how could they be so happy? There was no doubt in my mind that they knew what was happening in the Wizarding World, but they were still laughing.

"Go to your Houses. No dawdling," Mcgonagall called through the courtyard, making me jump.

I glanced in the direction of her voice, but the professor was already going back into the school. I was glad for her warning. The other students didn't need to be around for this.

Nerves danced in my stomach as I reached the Room of the Requirement. I called up the part of the Room that the Cabinet was in, pleading that, this time, it wouldn't work, but of course it did. It opened exactly as it had all year.

I ran to the Cabinet and ripped off the covering. I took a few steps back and waited. I hoped that they wouldn't come, but what reason did they have not to?

The handle to the Cabinet doors started to click and turn as an unnatural wind blew through the Room, making me shiver with cold. The Cabinet doors creaked open and a black mist poured out. They were here, and they would kill me if I didn't leave.

I had to kill him now.

My panic was too great for me to control now. I ran through the corridors until I arrived at the steps to the Astronomy Tower. Every professor talks of the dangerous and terrible consequences of Dark Spells, and they are dangerous, but what no one speaks of their advantages. Over the few years of training I noticed that I could feel when a spell is cast in the school. It took me a while to realise that was what that feeling was, but once I did, I focused on it more, and with a bit of practice, I was able to identify which kind of spells were cast-charm, hex, transfiguration, even Apparition.

Someone just Apparated to the Astronomy Tower. No one could Apparate inside of Hogwarts unless you were either in training in the Great Hall, or Dumbledore.

I took a deep breath as I opened the door, straining to keep my nervous emotions inside of me. My hand had to stop shaking. I wouldn't be able to kill him if it didn't.

"Whatever happens, it is imperative that you stay below," Dumbledore muttered. He whispered something else, but his voice was too distant for for to understand what he said.

The door slammed closed behind me as Dumbledore told someone to trust him. A set of footsteps rapidly drew closer as I approached the main staircase and began to climb it.

I suppose I still have another option.

" _I might just pitch myself off of the Astronomy Tower if I thought I had to continue for another two years."_

But I couldn't. I still had my family. My family or myself?

I choose them. I always will choose them.

I took a deep breath as I drew my wand to try and calm myself, but it was futile.

I has about to kill a man.

I aimed my wand through the globe-shaped, metal sculptures, struggling to keep it steady as I trained it on Dumbledore. I climbed the last step and tried to harden my expression. He would try to convince me not to kill him, so I couldn't show fear or doubt. Not even to myself.

"Good evening, Draco," the bearded man greeted. "What brings you here this fine spring evening?"

"Who else is here?" I snapped. "I heard you talking." No one else could be here. They said no witnesses. I would have to kill someone else if another person was here.

"I often talk aloud to myself. I find it extraordinarily useful. Have you been whispering to yourself, Draco?" Dumbledore asked quietly as I rounded the sculptures to get a clearer shot.

I never had anyone to talk to. I had to talk to someone, but no one was ever there. Not my parents, not my friends. I talked to myself because no one else was there, but how could he know?

"Draco..." Dumbledore slowly began, looking at me with pity. He was speaking cautiously, like he was afraid to say the wrong thing. "...you are no assassin."

"How do you know what I am?" I interrupted, my fear rising in me again. He was stalling. I just wanted to get this over with. "I've done things that would shock you."

"Like Cursing Katie Bell and hoping that in return that she'd bare a cursed necklace to me?" he questioned. "Replacing a bottle of mead with one laced with poison?"

He knew? The whole time, he knew? I was so surprised that I almost dropped my wand, but I quickly tightened my grip on it again.

"Forgive me, Draco, but I cannot help feeling these actions are so weak that your heart can't really have been in them," Dumbledore whispered as I finally rounded the globe sculpture.

The tremor in my hand grew worse the longer he talked about my failures. I clenched the end of my wand so hard that my entire hand began to tingle. He had to stop. "He trusts me!" I shouted, silencing the man. "I was chosen!"

I lowered my wand and yanked up my left sleeve, revealing the fully formed Dark Mark. I glanced back up at him to see if he looked afraid like the shopkeeper at Borgin and Burkes, to see if he was looking at me like the monster I really am.

But he wasn't. Dumbledore looked disappointed. Sad. Concerned for me.

Why? What did he have to be sad about? Not me. He should be afraid  _of_  me, not afraid  _for_  me. I was sent to kill him.

I pulled my sleeve back down and raised my wand again as Dumbledore pulled out his own.

"Then, I shall make it easy for you," he sighed.

"Expelliarmus!" I shouted, my voice cracking slightly in my fear.

This was it. Dumbledore's wand was thrown several meters away from him. He was unarmed. I had to do it.

"Very good. Very good," the Headmaster congratulated, the shaking in my hand growing worse by the second.

The entrance to the Tower clicked open and slammed shut as I doubled my grip on my wand handle.

They were here. I was out of time.

"You're not alone," Dumbledore commented, a hint of surprise in his words. "There are others. How?"

He took a step towards me, and I almost took two steps back, but I held my ground. I didn't want him any closer. I didn't want to see the light fade from his eyes, but stepping back would show my fear. Not only would I be backing away, but I might back out.

"The Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement," I explained. Now I was stalling. I had to kill him, but I couldn't do it. I was out of time, but I found myself spending my last few seconds chatting instead of doing what I was supposed to. "I've been mending it."

"Let me guess," Dumbledore offered. "It It has a sister. A twin."

"In Borgin and Burkes. They form a passage," I answered, my tremor lessening the more I distracted myself.

"Ingenious," my target commented. "Draco, years ago I knew a boy who made all the wrong choices. Please let me help you."

"I don't want your help! Don't you understand?" I shouted, my heart hammering against my ribs. He can't help me. No one can. "I have to do this." My tremor grew so intense that I could barely hold my aim. "I have to kill you." My eyes prickled as tears formed. I blinked them back, but it didn't stop my heart from clenching with guilt and fear. "Or he's gonna kill me."

A group of rapid footsteps echoed through the Tower, and I glanced through the hollow sculpture to the staircase as my aunt Bellatrix appeared on the top step.

My heart rate skyrocketed, and I gripped my wand even harder, staring back at Dumbledore. This was my last chance.

"Well, look what we have here," Bellatrix voiced, moving into the room and revealing Greyback and the two other masked Death Eaters that came with her. The group rounded the sculptures and moved over to me. Bellatrix leaned towards me and put her cold lips to my ear. "Well done, Draco," she whispered as she gently kissed my ear, making my skin crawl.

My aunt backed away as Dumbledore pleasantly greeted her like nothing was wrong. "Good evening, Bellatrix. I think introductions are in order, don't you?"

"Love to, Albus, but I'm afraid we're all on a bit of a tight schedule," the black-haired Death Eater rejected. She turned to me and hissed, "Do it."

I glanced at her commanding expression and then back at Dumbledore's calm and accepting one. I tried to keep my keep my wand up, but I couldn't. It automatically lowered, my premature guilt overcoming my resolve.

"He doesn't have the stomach. Just like his father," Greyback commented behind me.

What did he mean "like my father"? My father was strong enough. He could do this, but Greyback was right. I didn't have the stomach for it, but I had no choice.

I forced my wand back up as Greyback harshly finished, "Let me finish him my own way."

"No!" Bellatrix yelled in a breathy tone. "The Dark Lord was clear. The boy has to do it." She turned to me with what could be considered an encouraging expression. "This is your moment. Do it."

My moment. I mentally scoffed. This is one heck of a moment. If killing Dumbledore is the only thing I will be remembered for, I really am a monster.

"Go on, Draco! Now!" Bellatrix shouted when I still hadn't cast the Curse.

I couldn't do it. I tried and tried to force the words past my lips, but they wouldn't leave me. I couldn't kill a man, especially a man that has done nothing to me.

I was going to die. My family was going to die.

"No," a recognisable voice uttered behind me.

I instantly lowered my wand and found Snape approaching us.

Part of me was grateful, but the other part of me was terrified. The Dark Lord specifically said that  _I_  was to kill Dumbledore. Snape might spare me of killing, but choosing that path would condemn both myself and my family.

"Severus," Dumbledore voiced. I glanced at him and found that his expression matched his tone. He was sad and pleading, but he wasn't afraid.

A tense silence fell on all of us. Snape stared at Dumbledore, and Dumbledore stared at Snape. Bellatrix glared at the black-haired professor with hatred, and I couldn't take my eyes off of Dumbledore.

Why wasn't he afraid?

"Please," Dumbledore muttered.

After a second more, Snape voiced the worst spell in existence. "Avada Kedavra."

With a flash of dreaded green light, Dumbledore's body went limp and was thrown from the Tower. He seemed to fall in slow motion.

Dumbledore was dead. I killed him. I didn't cast the Curse, but I might as well have.

Snape grabbed my shoulder and shoved me towards the Tower staircase as Bellatrix bounced towards the railing of the Tower balcony, shouting at the top of her lungs and throwing a spell into the air, forming the Dark Mark out of the black clouds.

Snape went ahead of me as we descended the stairs. I struggled to keep up with the group when we reached the halls.

I couldn't get the image of Dumbledore falling out of my mind. It replayed over and over again.

Bellatrix ran into the Great Hall and mounted one of the long tables. She cackled manically as she kicked and blasted dishes and goblets off of the tabletop.

Snape stunned one of the members of staff, throwing him out of the way as my aunt's crazed laughter grew louder. I froze near the doors of the Great Hall, unable to keep going.

Bellatrix yelled in celebration, making me jump and turn to her. She raised her wand and turned the glass in every window into shards, the wind from her spell blowing out all of the floating candles.

What did I do?

This was my fault.

The school was destroyed. Dumbledore is dead.

It was my fault.

"Come on, Draco!" Bellatrix shouted as she excitedly hopped down from the table. She snagged my wrist as she passed, towing me after the rest of the group. I stumbled after them, my sight becoming blurred.

Once my aunt released me and ran ahead of us, I brought my hands to my eyes and wiped away the tears before they could leak down my face and give me away.

Snape glanced at me out of the corner of his eye but said nothing.

Our walk eventually took us to the Forbidden Forest as Bellatrix danced wildly through the trees, cackling the whole way. I had no idea where she was leading us until we reached the end of the treeline, revealing Hagrid's hut and his enormous garden.

"Hagrid! Hello?" Bellatrix called, singing each word.

"Snape! He trusted you!" a voice bellowed.

I gladly turned away from my aunt's insane celebration to find Potter charging at us with his wand drawn.

An explosion sounded behind me, and I flipped back around, seeing Bellatrix, squealing with a sickening delight as she set Hagrid's hut aflame, its burning heat instantly drying any remaining tears.

"Go on," Snape calmly ordered me.

I turned to him to be sure I was okay to go somewhere else, and he nodded.

I instantly ran away from the burning fire and moved as fast as I could back to the castle. Dumbledore fell from the Astronomy Tower, so his...body...would have landed in the front courtyard.

The Dark Mark shrieked overhead, and I glanced up at it. The skull seemed as if it could swoop down and swallow me whole. I wished it would. That way I wouldn't have to live with this guilt any longer.

Voldemort was probably going to kill me because I couldn't kill Dumbledore, but what would he do to my parents? I had to protect them as best I could until he killed me.

Finally arriving to the courtyard, I discovered a massive gathering of most of the students and professors in the school. I clung to the shadows on the edge of the courtyard and moved around the crowd. Just as I had thought, Dumbledore was here. He laid on his back in front of the crowd, one of his hands resting over his torso.

I could see his age. I always knew Dumbledore was old, but he never seemed feeble. As his body rested lifelessly on the ground, I could actually see the fact that he was at least a hundred years old.

After a moment, the crowd of students split and created a pathway that Harry silently moved through. Once he reached Dumbledore's body, he kneeled down next to him and sniffed. He moved strands of Dumbledore's hair out of his face and placed a hand on his unmoving chest. Weasley's sister knelt down next to Potter and drew him into her arms, holding him as his grieving became audible.

The already heavy atmosphere grew ten times more weighted with Potter's tears, making some of my own well up and fall down my cheeks.

The Dark Mark cried above us again, and I looked back up at it, noticing that a bit of light had penetrated the black clouds.

I glanced towards the gathering of students and saw Professor McGonagall standing with tears in her eyes and her wand raised and pointed towards the sky, the tip of it glowing with a small amount of white light.

Slowly, one by one, the other students and professors raised their own wands and made them glow. Even Hagrid raised his umbrella.

I knew I shouldn't have done it, but I had to.

I drew my own wand--the wand that would have killed him--and raised it towards the sky, forcing the smallest amount light past the darkness that had infected both my wand and myself.

I looked up at the Dark Mark as cried out in pain and grew consumed with white light. The light from all of us pushed back against the dark clouds and made the Mark vanish from the sky.

I lowered my wand with the rest of the gathering and glanced back down at Dumbledore's frail body.

"Draco," a low voice whispered.

I turned around to find Snape standing in the grass outside of the courtyard.

"Let's go," he quietly commanded.

I sighed and wiped my cheeks off with my sleeve and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....I may or may not have cried while writing this chapter...


	19. Chapter 19

Snape and the other Death Eaters Apparated me home, and my mother quickly embraced me. She let me go after a moment looked me in the eye, seeming to scan me for something. "Are you alright, Draco?" she asked.

"Of course he's not!" Bellatrix answered for me. "He knows he's disappointed our Dark Lord."

"Disappointed how?" Mother inquired, her voice lingering between high-pitched concern and a lowered seriousness.

"He didn't kill Dumbledore," my aunt answered.

Mother glanced between me and Bellatrix before commanding me to my room. I didn't fight her and willingly retreated. I didn't have any fight left in me.

I shrugged off my suit jacket as the picture of Dumbledore falling from the Tower replayed itself in my mind again.

I jumped at the mental image and dropped my blaiser. The memory was terrible, and I was on the verge of Obliviating myself to get rid of it, but I couldn't. Undoubtedly, You-Know-Who will want a report on everything. He'll learn that I didn't kill him, and then he'll kill me.

I should be scared, but I'm not. I'm not scared of dying. I felt practically nothing at all.

But my hand was shaking so hard that I couldn't undo my tie.

A loud knock sounded at my door, and my father entered a second later. "Did you do it?" he demanded. He looked terrible. He looked as sick as I was. He had black spots under his eyes and he was paler than I had ever seen him. He looked panicked and worried.

"No," I answered, dread carving a hole in my chest.

"What do you mean 'no'?" he almost shouted.

"I-I couldn't do it," I stuttered, fearing his reaction.

Father took a deep breath and shook his head. "I told you that you had to do it before they came," he reminded. "Is he dead at least?"

"Yes," I slowly answered, the moment in the Tower playing in my mind again. "Snape killed him."

Neither of us spoke for a time, but that didn't stop me from wondering if he would he kill me? My family? Make me kill them as punishment?

Before I could ask my father, my wrist that held the Dark Mark burned like fire. I hissed and grabbed my wrist, shutting my eyes against the pain. I glanced up at my father and found him staring at his own Dark Mark. The Mark was twisting and convulsing on his skin. "Is that normal?" I asked, straining to keep my fear out of my voice, but even I could still hear the emotion resonating in my words.

Father looked at me with pity and answered, "Yes. I know it's painful, but it means we're being summoned. The Dark Lord wants to talk to all of his Death Eaters, and that includes you. Come on."

Father grabbed my trembling hand and towed me out of my room. "How do you know where to go?" I asked, unsuccessfully trying to take my mind off of Dumbledore.

"The more it happens, the better you'll be able to know. A picture forms in your mind, and it'll get clearer over time," he hurriedly explained as he forced me to a stop outside of the closed doors to our dining room. "Now, be quiet. The Dark Lord is just behind this door," he warned, burning worry in his eyes as his voice dropped to a whisper. "You failed to fulfill his wishes, so only spoke when specifically asked to, and he's going to do any number of things to you to have you make up for your failure."

"Like what?" I muttered, images of death and torture filling my mind.

"I don't know. But there's no way to prepare for it."

I didn't respond, but I drew in several shaking breaths to try to calm myself, but it didn't work.

"Draco…" Father began, getting me to look back up at him. He froze. He looked like he wanted to say something but couldn't get the words out. Eventually, he shook his head and opened the door.

Behind it, every Death Eater was assembled. Bellatrix, Greyback, Snape, even Crabbe and Goyle's fathers were present. And in the center of them all was the Dark Lord with his dangerously thick snake coiled near his ankles, looking ready to strike. His hand griped the bone-like handle of his wand as he stared at me with intense disgust. He glanced at my father and cocked his head to the side. Father nodded and joined my mother and the walls of other Death Eaters, leaving me alone.

"Draco," the Dark Lord called in his breathy voice. I looked up at him, but avoided making direct eye contact. "You failed to kill Dumbledore. Why?"

I swallowed back the lump in my throat before mumbling, "I was afraid to."

"And why were you afraid?" Voldemort demanded as his snake hissed threateningly.

"I've never killed anyone," I quietly answered, my heart jumping at the unsettling sound of Nagini's hiss.

"A lot of people have done things for me that they have never done before. So why should the fact that you have never killed anyone before stop you from obeying my order?"

I didn't say anything. How could I? I couldn't say that I felt guilty about killing Dumbledore before I had even raised my wand. Feelings like guilt and regret were rejected by the Death Eaters and Voldemort. They were weakness. I would be considered weak, and I had no idea what they would make me do to "toughen me up".

"Crucio!" the Dark Lord shouted.

Searing pain speared me in the chest and threw me to the floor. A scream tore itself from my throat as I hit the ground. My body convulsed of its own accord, trying to escape the burning poison coursing through my veins.

"Stop this!" someone shouted. "He's just a boy! He couldn't be expected to kill someone!"

The blinding pain abruptly ended, leaving me breathless. I laid on the floor as I struggled to get my lungs to work again.

"Was it not you who suggested him to do so, Lucius?" the wheezing voice of Voldemort inquired.

"I recommended him to repair the Cabinet and allow the other Death Eaters through," my father's voice forcefully countered. "Not to kill someone. You were the one who wanted Draco to kill Dumbledore."

I finally managed to get my eyes to open during a moment of tense silence. I forced my head to turn in the direction of my father's voice and discovered him standing near the Dark Lord with a mixture of fear and defiance in his expression.

"Are you suggesting that I made a mistake, Lucius?" Voldemort questioned, a threat ringing in his voice as he turned to face my father with a challenge in his slitted eyes.

You-Know-Who's thick snake bared its teeth and hissed loudly as the Death Eaters surrounding Father and the Dark Lord backed away several steps, creating a ring around them. Even Snape backed away.

Father glanced around at the retreating Death Eaters before quietly stuttering, "No-no, my lord. I-I am only saying that…" He trailed off.

"That what?" Voldemort demanded.

My father's breathing grew visibly shaky as he stole a glance at me. He looked afraid. More afraid than I had ever seen him. I tried to force myself up to at least be able to support my weight on my elbows and look more encouraging for him, but all I succeeded in doing was making more pain burn through my torso. I hissed and fell back to the ground, the snickering of several Death Eaters reaching my ears.

I looked towards my father, and he locked eyes with me for moment. I didn't know what my expression communicated, but he looked sadly at me and turned back to Voldemort.

"Perhaps I was the one who made the mistake," he hesitantly muttered.

"Are you saying that you have no faith in your son, Lucius?" Voldemort pressed.

Father took an uncertain step back. "N-n-no. I-I-"

"Perhaps I can help you rectify your mistake," Voldemort offered before raising his whitened wand and waving it in my direction, throwing my father to the floor near me.

Father turned his head and looked at me, a mixture of fear and regret in his eyes. He opened his mouth and hesitantly whispered, "Draco." He was so quiet that I almost couldn't hear him. "I'm so-"

"Crucio!"

My father and I both screamed as that same red hot pain raced through my body. My mind drifted back to that spell Potter cast in the bathroom a week ago. The Torture Curse was all too similar to Potter's spell--which nearly killed me. Maybe Voldemort was trying to kill me.

Something inside of me slipped, and the pain slowly dulled. I pleaded that my consciousness would fade soon. I thought I had gotten my wish when the influence of the Cruciatus Curse abruptly ended, but I was proven wrong when my rushing breath burned my raw throat.

"Get them out of my sight," Voldemort hissed.

Several hands soon lifted me from the floor, the sudden movement making more pain burst inside of me. I was so dazed and exhausted that I couldn't open my eyes. The echoing slaps of shoes on the hard floors was the only indication that I was being moved.

After a few minutes, a door was kicked open and a Death Eater shouted, "Get in there, Malfoy!"

The hands that carried me pushed on my back, and I was thrown through the air. I painfully impacted the ground a moment later, the air instantly leaving my lungs. The door was slammed shut, and I was left alone on the floor, gasping for breath and holding my side.

I laid on the floor, trying to get my head to clear, and after a while, I finally managing to get my eyes open and found myself in my room. I forced my unsteady legs to stand and stumble over to the door. I tried the handle. It was locked.

I was locked in my room with no idea what was to come. Someone will probably torture me again. They had to. According to them, I needed to be punished because I failed to kill Dumbledore.

I wandered to my bed and fell down onto it as the events in the Tower played again in my mind.

Why did Snape kill him? He knew just as well as I did that Voldemort demanded that I should have.

I suppose I should be grateful. If it wasn't for Snape, I would have killed a man. I have no idea what it feels like to kill, and I wasn't anxious to learn.

But now I was subject to torture and who knows what else.


	20. Chapter 20

About three days later, the door to my room was finally unlocked. "You're free to roam about the house, Malfoy Junior," an unfamiliar Death Eater announced. "Just don't leave the estate." The Death Eater turned on his heel and marched away.

Eventually, I was able to push myself into a sitting position on my bed, my stomach sending waves of dull pain throughout my torso. The only thing I was able to put into my body these past three days was water. No one came with food, one of the Death Eaters stole my wand when they threw me in here, preventing me from Apparating out. The lack of food made me hurt and shake and left me exhausted. I had to get some food, but I didn't know if I had the energy to.

I forced myself up and stumbled out of my room, using the wall for support. I finally got to the kitchen and found a few of our House Elves conversing, though they froze and turned away when I entered the room.

"Hello, young Master Malfoy," a small voice greeted. I glanced down and discovered Loft awkwardly holding his own hands and staring up at me. "What can Loft do for you, sir?"

"Just need some food," I answered.

"What would you-"

"I don't care what it is. Just make it fast. I'm starving," I interrupted. Loft gave a small nod and walked off to do as I asked when another pang from my stomach forced me to take up a chair at the nearby kitchen table.

I sat in silence for the few minutes it took for Loft to make the food and return to me. "Sir," the Elf called, holding a plate with a tall sandwich on it out to me in offering. I quickly took it from him and scarfed it down, my screaming hunger making me forget to be cautious about eating too fast.

"What?" I demanded through a full mouth, noticing that the House Elf was still at my side.

"May Loft ask if you are alright, sir?"

"I'm fine," I spat. "Why do you ask?"

"Loft heard you return from school three days ago and has not seen you since. Loft was wondering if you are alright because he heard you screaming," the House Elf answered, fixing his gaze on the ground.

I swallowed the last bite of the sandwich. "I'm fine. I just did something wrong."

"What did you do wrong, sir?" Loft asked glancing up at me.

"Nothing you should be concerned about!" I snapped. I wasn't afraid that Loft would reveal what I would say to anybody. He's a House Elf. They're programmed not to tell anyone anything if ordered to, but I couldn't talk about it. Not yet.

I thrust the crumb-covered plate towards Loft and ordered, "Go put this away."

"Y-yes, sir," the Elf stuttered before carefully taking the plate away from the table and silently walking away.

My hand twitched of its own accord, and I glanced down to find my right hand shaking worse than it ever had before. I didn't try to stop it this time. If they saw my hand shake, they would probably torture me again. If they tortured me enough, I would end up like Longbottom's parents, but that would be better than being forced to kill and torture others for them.

"Draco," a soft voice called. I looked up from my shaking hand and found my father standing in the doorway of the kitchen with a bronze-coloured drink in his hand and a few days' worth of scruff on his jaw. "Glad to see that they finally let you out."

"They let you out before me," I commented as Father approached the table and took a chair across from me.

"They didn't lock me up at all," he corrected, taking a sip of his drink. "Just you. You were the one that failed. Not me."

I tensed at his words and withdrew my trembling hand from the table, placing it in my lap.

My father took another sip of his drink, finishing the glass and placed it on the table. "Why is your hand shaking?" he slurred, pointing at me.

"I don't know," I answered. "It started the beginning of this year."

A scream came from below us, making me jump and glance towards the floor. It was a man's voice, but what was he doing in the old wine cellar?

"Who's in the cellar?" I asked, looking back up at Father.

Father seemed to freeze and nervously glanced down at the floor. "No one."

The same voice screamed again, but it was louder this time.

"Someone is," I pressed. "Who's in the cellar?"

Snape appeared in the doorway, a small amount of blood spattered across the hem of his robe. "Young Mister Malfoy," he slowly called, "get your House Elves to make some food and take it to the cellar. Quickly." He walked briskly away.

I looked to the Elves, who were pretending to be busy, and ordered, "One of you make a sandwich or something. As fast as you can." As the Elves got busy, I turned back to my father. "Thought you said that there was no one in the cellar."

"I didn't know that they wanted you to bring him food," he answered forcefully, looking at me sternly.

"Who's down there?" I asked.

"Ollivander."

"From the wand shop?" I received a confirming nod.

"Your food, sir," a high voice said at my elbow.

Not bothering to see which Elf gave me the food, I grabbed the plate from her and left the kitchen, leaving my father with a disappointed scoff.

How could he not tell me? I knew how being a Death Eater worked. There were certain levels of confidence that you had to be in to learn certain things, but I still thought that my father would tell me if there was someone being...stored in our cellar.

It didn't take long for me to reach the steps that lead to barred cellar door. At the base of those stairs, I discovered Wormtail guarding the door, gripping his wand hard with his silver hand. "Now you're a serving boy?" he mocked as I descended. I didn't answer. "Can't believe you didn't kill him," Wormtail muttered as he unlocked the door.

I ignored him as I entered, glancing around the cellar-turned-cell for the prisoner. "Mister Ollivander?"

"Mister Malfoy?" a cracking voice wondered.

"Yes," I answered, squinting in the low light as I searched. "I've brought you some food. Where are you?"

"Back here."

I unsurely followed his voice and eventually found Ollivander curled up in a corner, various bruises and cuts littering his face and a mixture of old and fresh blood dying his clothes. I quickly walked up to him and put the plate on the floor in front of him.

"Are you with them?" Ollivander asked before I could turn to leave.

"Yes," I sighed. "But I didn't know they had you down here."

The older man opened his mouth to say something else, but I quickly turned and left the cellar.

"Should have killed Dumbledore, you rat," Wormtail hissed as he locked the door behind me. "Would have made things a lot easier for you."

"You're one to call me rat," I returned, brushing off his comment.

The tip of Wormtail's wand jabbed itself into my neck, making me wince in pain and freeze.

"Now, you listen here, Malfoy--"

"Wormtail!" a man shouted from the top of the stairs. We both looked up and found my father standing at the top stair with a refilled drink in hand. "Let him go," he ordered.

Wormtail grumbled quietly in protest and tore his wand away from my throat before roughly shoving me towards the stairs.

I straightened my wrinkled suit and climbed up towards my father. "I came to give you this," he spat, slapping my wand into my chest.

I grunted in surprise and took my wand from him. Father turned his back to me and walked away, taking another sip of his drink.

"Why is he down there?" I questioned, pocketing my wand.

My father paused and looked back to me, spilling a few drops of his drink. "What?"

I let out an exasperated breath and walked a few steps closer to him. "Why is Ollivander in the cellar?"

"The Dark Lord needs him."

"For?"

Father narrowed his eyes a little at me and reminded, "You will not question the Dark Lord's needs."

"I'm not questioning him. I'm questioning you," I retorted.

"And why would you question me?" He tapped one of his rings on the metal snake head of his walking stick.

I swallowed a lump that suddenly formed in my throat. "I-I was just wondering."

"Oh. So you  _are_  questioning me."

He took a step towards me, and I took a step back, suddenly uncomfortable with having my father any closer.

"Don't walk away from me," he spat, reaching out and taking hold of my collar and pulling me closer to him as his walking stick clattered to the floor.

I wrinkled my nose at the stench of alcohol radiating from his clothes and breath. "Father," I gently spoke, cautiously reaching up and grasping his wrist, "you're drunk, and you need to let go of me."

My father would drink from time to time, but as far as I knew, he never drank so much that it would make him do this.

"Don't talk back to me," he hissed sternly, quickly moving his hand from my collar to my throat.

I tensed and removed my hand from his wrist as he grasped my neck. His grip was firm, but it wasn't painful. I took several deep breaths to try to calm my thudding heart, but it was of no use. I had no idea what my father would do. He could choke me or let me go. I pleaded that he would let me go, but the anger in his eyes and his hardened expression said that he would probably choke me.

I swallowed down my nerves, carefully placed my hand on top of his and quietly and slowly voiced, "Father, you need to let me go. You're-"

"I know I'm drunk!" he shouted, making me wince at his volume as he gripped my throat tighter. "The only reason I am this way is because of you!"

I gasped and instinctively gripped his wrist as his hand tightened even more around my neck. I forced myself to calm down and loosen my grip on his wrist. I didn't want to fight my father. He was better at magic than I was and physically stronger than me. He would win against me--even drunk--and he was still my father. He wouldn't do this normally. This would never happen again. He just had to get sober, and this entire problem will be resolved. I had to talk my way out of his grip. If I could convince him to let me go, neither of us would get hurt. Emotionally or physically.

"What did I do to make you like this?" I strained, his grip restricting my ability to breath.

"You didn't kill Dumbledore." His grip tightened even more, almost entirely cutting off my air. "If you had, we would be in the Dark Lord's good graces. And when we win this Second Wizarding War, we would be praised as heroes. But you were weak."

I gasped for air in and attempt to apologize and get him to let go of me. "I'm-I'm s-s-"

"Don't speak, now!" my father shouted doubling his grip on my throat.

I groaned and was unable to stop myself from grasping my father's wrist this time. Both of my hands flew to his wrist and instinctively tried to pry my father's hand off of my throat, but it only made him grip me tighter.

"This is your fault," he hissed. "Everything that happened three days ago, and everything that will happen now is and will be your fault."

My legs began to shake from the lack of air as I clawed at his hand. He had to let go of me. Dark spots were already filling my vision, and I didn't know if he would let go after I passed out. His expression held nothing but drunken fury. There was no trace of the father who got tortured with me a few days ago.

My knees finally gave out, and I fell to the ground. Father held lowered his hand to keep his grip on my neck in tact. I would have fallen to the floor entirely, but my father's hand wrapped around my throat kept me upright.

"Fa-father," I gasped, trying to use my expression more than my words to plead with him, "p-please."

He scoffed sardonically and smirked at me heartlessly. "You're pleading now? No wonder you couldn't kill him."

My vision had almost entirely disappeared as I gripped his wrist as hard as I could, pushing against him.

Without warning, my father used his grip on my throat to shove me to the floor. I instantly gasped as my head slammed into the floorboards. I didn't move from the spot where I fell as I desperately fought for air. Occasionally, a cough would worm its way through my damaged throat which only made my windpipe burn even more.

"Get off the floor, Malfoy," Wormtail's voice ordered.

I glanced over to find him leaning against the top stair, a barely concealed smirk on his face. It was obvious that he had watched the whole event and was clearly entertained by it, but he was still right. If another Death Eater caught me on the floor in pain, they would undoubtedly take advantage of my vulnerable position.

I managed to roll onto my side so I could push myself to my feet. I glanced around and found that my father had gone, and he took his drink and walking stick with him. I was relieved to see him go. I didn't want to see him again until he was sober.

I winced at each breath as I found my way to my room, each intake of air raking across my throat. I gently rubbed the skin of my neck to try to soothe it, but nothing worked.

I finally made it through the door to my room, and I closed the door behind me. I thought that after being locked up in here for three days would make me never want to see my room again, but now, it was the only place I had left to go. I had no idea where my mother was, and I didn't want to see my father or any of the other Death Eaters. I just wanted to be alone.

I moved to my private bathroom and grabbed the cup that rested on the sink. I filled it up halfway with water and took a cautious sip of it. I winced, the water burning like fire as I swallowed.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and noticed how terrible I looked. The dark circles under my eyes had worsened, and my cheekbones and jawline protruded out of my skin so much that they looked ready to tear through, but the worst part was my neck. A reddened, hand-shaped mark had formed on my skin, wrapping its way around my throat. The imprint of my father's hand.

He didn't mean to do it. He couldn't have. He was just drunk. He'll be sober by tomorrow.

I took the water cup and went back to the main part of my room. I placed the cup on my bedside table and fell into bed, wincing as another breath burned my throat, and it didn't take long for me to fall asleep.

* * *

_The group rounded the sculptures and moved to me. Bellatrix leaned towards me and put her cold lips to my ear. "Well done, Draco," she whispered as she gently kissed my ear, making my skin crawl._

_Normally, I would flinch at her uncomfortable display of affection, but I had nowhere to go if I did._

_My aunt backed away from me as Dumbledore pleasantly greeted her like nothing was wrong. "Good evening, Bellatrix. I think introductions are in order, don't you?"_

" _Love to, Albus, but I'm afraid we're all on a bit of a tight schedule," the black-haired Death Eater rejected. She turned to me and hissed, "Do it."_

_I glanced at her commanding expression and then back at Dumbledore's calm and accepting one. I tried to keep my keep my wand up, but I couldn't. It automatically lowered, my guilt overcoming my resolve._

" _He doesn't have the stomach. Just like his father," Greyback commented behind me._

_What did he mean "like my father"? My father was strong enough. He could do this, but Greyback was right. I didn't have the stomach for it, but I didn't have a choice either._

_I forced my wand back up as Greyback harshly finished, "Let me finish him my own way."_

" _No!" Bellatrix shouted in a breathy tone. "The Dark Lord was clear. The boy has to do it." She turned to me with what could be considered an encouraging expression. "This is your moment. Do it."_

_My moment. I mentally scoffed. This is one heck of a moment. If killing Dumbledore is the only thing I will be famous for, I really am a monster._

" _Go on, Draco! Now!" Bellatrix shouted when I still hadn't cast the Curse._

_I couldn't let my family die._

_With a wave of my wand, I shouted, "Avada Kedavra!"_

* * *

I woke with a start, a dull thudding sounding in my ears. That wasn't how it happened. I didn't cast the Curse that killed him, but which was worse: ensuring a man's death or committing it yourself?

"Draco?" a distant voice called. It sounded like my mother.

I gulped down my nerves from my dream and rose from my bed. I crossed the room to the door and opened it a crack. "Yeah?" I shouted back.

"Mister Crabbe and Mister Goyle are here, and they've brought their sons with them! Are you in your room?"

"Yeah!" I received no reply, but after a minute or two, the door was shoved open, and I narrowly avoided getting hit in the stomach with the doorknob. My two friends burst through the doorway and both hit me lightly on the shoulder in greeting.

"You had a job from You-Know-Who himself and you didn't tell us?" Crabbe exclaimed.

"I was told not to tell anyone," I responded quietly.

"What was it?" Crabbe demanded.

I hesitated. I wasn't sure if I could tell them, and what would they think if I did? I knew that their parents firmly believe in what Voldemort said, but I wasn't sure if my friends did.

"Oh, come on, Malfoy," Goyle encouraged.

I refused to tell them all of it, but I would talk about some of it. "You know that old story about the Vanishing Cabinet in the school?" I asked.

"Yeah. Didn't some kid break it and get stuck in a toilet?" Crabbe laughed, getting Goyle to snicker.

"Yeah," I confirmed. "I found it and mended it. I formed a passage between it and its sort of twin at Borgin and Burkes. That allowed the Death Eaters to come into the school and avoid the barriers they staff put in."

"Then they took the school and killed Dumbledore!" Crabbe finished.

"Y-yeah," I agreed, glad that their curiosity seemed to be satisfied.

"Did you hear who the new Headmaster's gonna be?" Goyle wondered.

"I didn't even know they found a replacement so quickly."

"McGonagall said that they wanted to get it done quickly so that everyone can have time to grieve," Goyle informed.

I nodded. "Who'd they get?"

"Snape," Crabbe answered, disbelief ringing in his voice. "He volunteered instantly. Said that Dumbledore asked him to be his successor."

"You mean the  _Dark Lord_  asked him to be Dumbledore's successor," I corrected.

"How would you know?"

"I don't. Not for sure, anyways," I clarified. "But Snape is a Death Eater, and you said it yourself. They took the school, and they want complete control over it. The best way to do that is to have a Death Eater be Headmaster."

"Snape's a Death Eater?" Crabbe breathed.

I gave him an incredulous look. "You know I'm a Death Eater, so I assumed you knew about Snape."

The two stared at me with disbelieving wide eyes.

"You're a Death Eater?" Goyle shouted at the same time Crabbe yelled, "Can I see the Mark."

"We knew you had a job from You-Know-Who, but we didn't know you were an actual Death Eater!" Goyle continued.

"Okay," I voiced slowly, trying to decide how to answer the both of them. "I started Death Eater training Fifth Year. Snape trained me, and my Mark fully formed a few months ago, so yes. I'm official."

It was strange to say that fact aloud, but it was true, nonetheless. I'm a Death Eater.

"Can I see the Mark?" Crabbe pleaded, excitement in his voice.

I rolled my eyes at my friend's actions. Why was he looking forward to seeing something that meant death?

I hesitantly unbuttoned the cuff covering my left wrist and rolled up my sleeve, holding my bare wrist out for my friends to see.

"That's so cool!" Crabbe exclaimed.

"Wicked!" Goyle agreed.

Crabbe reached out to take hold of my wrist, but I quickly pulled my hand away. "Don't."

"Why not?" Crabbe whined.

"Because touching it summons You-Know-Who, and we're not supposed to do that unless we've captured Potter."

"So you've got a plan to get him, then?" Goyle asked.

"Not that I've been told," I answered, "but someone somewhere is coming up with one."

"Good!" Crabbe yelled.

"That  _Potter's_  the only thing standing in the way of us winning this New Wizarding War," Goyle agreed.

None of us spoke for a moment, but Goyle eventually broke the silence. "We're staying for dinner, you know."

"Really?" I half-heartedly wondered.

"Yeah," Crabbe confirmed. "Our fathers are staying later, but they're sending us home at the end of the night."

"So, what was training like?" Goyle interjected.

"Yeah! Tell us!" Crabbe insisted. "Death Eaters are, like, superheroes, so I've always wanted to be one like my dad. You're lucky."

I scoffed. "Not as lucky as you'd think."

"What do you mean?" Crabbe wondered.

"I practiced during the summers, and they put up some kind of shield so that the Trace wouldn't detect my use of magic while underage," I explained, wandering back to my bed.

The other two followed me and took a seat on either side of me on the mattress as I told them everything about my Death Eater training with Snape. My hand shook uncontrollably as I spoke, so I slipped my hand underneath my leg to hide it from them. It was clear by now that the tremor in my hand was linked to fear somehow. Whether I was actually afraid or thinking about times when I was, my hand would shake, and the more afraid I was or the more I thought about it, the worse the tremor would become.

"Guess my father was right," Crabbe said once I concluded.

"Right about what?" I asked, trying desperately to maneuver the conversation away from my being a Death Eater.

"He said I wouldn't be able to handle training," Crabbe answered.

"Well, of course you wouldn't," Goyle laughed. "You can't go five minutes without food."

"Neither can you, Goyle," I reminded, forcing a small laugh.

"True," my friend agreed with a real chuckle.

"Draco! Dinner!" my mother called from downstairs. "And bring your friends with you!"

"You heard her," I said, playfully slapping my two friends on the shoulder.

The two laughed as Crabbe shouted, "Race ya to the bottom of the stairs!"

Goyle smirked confidently, tearing out of my room and down the hall.

I laughed quietly at their antics and followed them out. I moved fast enough to keep up with them and make it look like I was enjoying the race, but mentally, I was still stuck in training. Flashes of green light and the echoing screeches of animals replayed in my mind the entire way to the doors of the dining hall.

"You lose, Malfoy!" Crabbe mocked, and Goyle laughed in agreement.

"Quiet down, you guys," I warned. "A lot of Death Eaters are staying here, so we're probably all having dinner together."

"Right," Goyle whispered and slapped Crabbe in the stomach to get him to agree.

With an intense nod from Crabbe, I opened the doors to our dining hall and walked through with my friends following close behind me. My friends' parents had saved seats beside them, and there was an empty seat between my parents. The three of us separated, and I took the seat between my parents.

"Where have you been?" my father hissed in my ear.

"With my friends," I carefully answered, glancing at the drink in his hand.

He still wasn't sober. How was that possible? Has he been drinking all day?

I glanced nervously at my father all through dinner, attempting to use my left hand as I ate so that no one would see my right hand tremble as my mind kept making me feel like my father was still gripping my neck. Each time I swallowed, my throat turned to fire.


	21. Chapter 21

A few weeks later, I was startled awake by yet another nightmare about Dumbledore's death and was on my way to the front door for some fresh air when I noticed a lamp flickering in one of our study rooms. I peeked through the crack between the double doors and spotted my father slouching in a chair with his head in one hand, a glass of wine in the other, and a half empty bottle of liquor resting on the small table beside him.

I gently pushed one of the doors open and softly called, "Father?"

He jumped and looked up at me through squinted and unfocused eyes. "Draco. What're you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," I answered, inching closer to him.

"Neither could I."

"So you're drinking again," I countered, leaning against the table that supported the bottle of wine.

I had my wand with me. I could make the bottle disappear before he could pour himself another glass. I still had the Trace on me, but the Ministry wouldn't be able to detect the magic because of the Dark Arts shield placed on our property. No one could detect the magic used here.

"You turn seventeen tomorrow, don't you?" my father slurred looking up at me with a forced smile.

I nodded in answer.

"Anything you want?"

"Not really." In all honesty, the only thing I wanted for my birthday was to be left alone. I wanted a day to be forgotten.

Ever since I failed to kill Dumbledore, I've been the center of attention, and it wasn't in a good way. The other Death Eaters around the house would mock me both behind my back and to my face, but that wasn't a problem. The Gryffindors at school laughed at me constantly, so it was easy to tune out the Death Eaters. What got to me was the torture. Some of them would throw painful spells and curses in my direction when I wasn't paying attention. They laughed when I cried out in pain or was tripped up. To most of them, it was a game. A sort of prank they used to get back at me, but to others, it was revenge for my weakness. Those Death Eaters would hold a Cruciatus Curse on me for minutes at a time. They would spit at my feet and leave me lying on the floor.

My father was no help. He was always drinking, and I hardly ever saw him. I had no idea where mother was, but I always knew where my father was: in a private room with some type of alcohol to keep him company. Every time I would enter the room he asked me the same questions: how I was doing, and what I was doing. I tried to take the alcohol away from him several times, but he always stopped me. He used magic against me and held me by the neck more times than I could count, but I still had some hope that tonight would be different.

"Well, you let me know if you think of anything you want for tomorrow," my father suggested after another sip of his drink.

His glass was almost finished. I had to move the wine bottle now.

I straightened my posture, slipped my hand into my large pockets and fingered the handle of my wand. I didn't have to make the bottle vanish, just the wine inside of it. A little spell to the leg of the table would throw the bottle to the ground and break it, doing away with the wine.

I flicked my wand inside of my pocket and made the table wobble. The bottle tilted, and I grew hopeful that this would work, but when the bottle was about to slip off of the small table entirely, Father noticed and quickly grabbed it.

He lifted the bottle and waited for the table to stop shaking before putting it back down. He glanced at me with anger and demanded, "Did you do this? Did you try to break it?"

"No," I lied, pleading that he wouldn't see through me.

"Let me see your hand, Draco."

I backed away from him, growing nervous at his rising volume. Father hardly ever rose his voice with me when I was a child, but lately, when he has, it always came with pain.

"Draco, let me see what's in your pocket," he ordered, his voice barely below a shout.

I gulped down the lump in my throat and pulled my wand out of my pocket.

"So you did try to take my drink from me."

I flipped my wand around in my hand so that I was holding the tip instead of the handle and held my hands up. "You've had enough of it. I'm just trying to help you."

Father scoffed and rose from his chair, his glass cup still in his hand. "You know how you could have helped me? By doing what you were supposed to. Why didn't you?"

"I-I-"

" _I_  am tired of your excuses!" he shouted, reaching behind him and drawing his wand from his chair.

He leveled the instrument at my chest, and I dropped my wand. I was too afraid of what he might do if I opened my mouth again, but I had to do something to get him to stop. Before he hurt me again.

I slowly got to my knees in front of him, keeping my hands up, and stared at his face, pleading that he would put his wand down. But instead, my father bent down to my level and got close enough for me to be overpowered by the stench of alcohol radiating off of his breath.

"You're a pathetic excuse for a Malfoy," he hissed.

My heart jumped. He couldn't mean that. I was his son, and he cared for me, right? "Y-you don't-"

He smashed the glass he held into the side of my head, making it shatter. The force of his blow sent me to the floor, stinging pain spreading across my cheek.

"You're not supposed to talk back to your father," he breathed, a threat ringing in his voice as he stood back to his full height.

I looked up at him as he towered over me, too afraid to move. My heart pounded, and I reached up to my stinging cheek and cautiously prodded the injury. I inspected my trembling hand and found hot, red blood smeared across my fingertips.

"What? Afraid of a little blood?" my father mocked as he aimed his wand at me again. "You really are pathetic."

I opened my mouth to apologize and beg him to let me leave, but I was cut off by the worst spell I've ever been subject to.

"Crucio!" he shouted, instantly spreading poison-like pain through my veins.

I screamed and writhed on the floor in a desperate attempt to break free of the pain, but I knew it was of no use. The Torture Curse made terrible pain come from your own heart, and the only way to get rid of it was to lose consciousness, but I couldn't force myself to.

I didn't know how long had passed, but the pain eventually ended, and something clattered to the floor.

"D-D-Draco?" my father's voice gently called.

I dragged my eyes open, and I found my father kneeling close to me, looking terrified. He looked like himself. For the first time this summer, he looked like the father I used to know.

"I-I-I'm s-sorry," he stuttered, raising a trembling hand towards me.

My heart jumped at his action, and I forced my aching limbs to push away from him, my hands stinging as my skin was pierced by the shattered glass on the floor.

"No, no, no," my father repeated, quickly catching up to me. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He took me into his arms and gripped me in a tight embrace.

I wanted to return it. I wanted to believe for a moment that there was hope for my father, but there wasn't. He wouldn't do this if he was sober, no, but it's clear to me, now, that he would never get that way.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered into my hair, his arms tightening around my like a coiling snake.

I glanced around wildly for my wand and found that it was close enough for me to grasp. I carefully reached out with my shaking hand and slowly took hold of the handle. I waited for a few moments to see if my father had noticed my movement, but he gave no indication that he had. He only whispered apologies again and again.

I quickly brought my wand up and threw a stunning spell at him, not caring if it hit him or not. He let me go, and I scrambled to stand and ran from the study room.

"Draco!" Lucius shouted as I ran.

I didn't look back, and I didn't stop until I had gotten to my room, closed the door and bolted it shut. I instantly released my wand and dropped to the floor. I curled my knees up to my chest and held myself as my fear gave way to grief.

My father was gone. He was here physically, but he hated me, now.

Maybe I should have refused Voldemort's request to help him a few years ago. He would have probably killed me for refusing, and if not for that, for knowing too much about his plans. I didn't want to die, but dying was starting to look better than this.

But though my father hated me, I still had my mother. And we are at war. Maybe I could do my part and take it down from the inside, but how could I do that? I'm surrounded by the enemy, and technically, I am the enemy.

How could I help Harry Potter from here?


	22. Chapter 22

I didn't get what I wanted for my birthday. My birthday was a day like any other. The house was filled with Death Eaters that hated me, and I was continually forced to bring Ollivander food. The old shopkeeper was looking worse by the day, and I hated looking at him. He looked as helpless as I felt.

My father continually tried to apologize to me, and I didn't see him drink the entire day. That was my one birthday present: my father was sober, and he didn't hurt me or anyone else. But there was still a constant, gnawing dread in the pit of my stomach that told me that he was going to hurt me again. I didn't want to be afraid of my father, but ever since last night, I couldn't stop myself from jumping when he moved too quickly or got too close.

So when I settled into bed and Lucius opened the door, I instantly stood back up. I grabbed my wand and held it behind my back as he entered, trying to calm myself down. He was sober, though he looked terrible. He wouldn't hurt me now, but I still had a Dementor-like fear of him that made my stomach churn.

"I hate to tell you this on your birthday, Draco, but I don't think that I'll have another opportunity to do so," my father voiced, letting the door fall closed behind him.

My heart jumped slightly when the door clicked shut, but I forced my voice to remain steady. "Tell me what?"

Lucius took a deep breath, as if he was hesitating. "You're not going to school for your Seventh Year."

I narrowed my eyes at him in confusion. "Why wouldn't I go?"

"The Dark Lord will need everyone," my father elaborated. "We're going to make big steps in this war, and he needs every one of us to help him, and that includes you."

"Okay," I responded, unsure of what to say.

We fell into an uncomfortable silence for a while until Lucius jumped as if startled and exclaimed, "Oh! I just remembered. We have a meeting tomorrow."

"A meeting?"

"Yes. All of the Death Eaters will be there as well as the Dark Lord," he answered.

"Do you know why?" I asked.

"No. We never know why." His voice trailed off as if he was trying to figure something out.

Neither of us spoke for even longer than the first time, but my father broke the silence again with an abrupt, "Goodnight, Draco. And happy birthday." He quickly left my room and closed the door behind him.

Once he was gone, I was finally able to relax. I placed my wand back on my nightstand with a sigh. Now there was a meeting. Every single Death Eater would be there. Several of them were staying at the house already, but more would come.

I quickly shook my head, desperately trying to banish the unsettling thoughts. I should head to bed. I had to get some rest.

I crawled into bed and wrapped myself in my covers, hoping to sleep, but I couldn't get comfortable. I turned every way I could think of but never fell asleep. I couldn't take my mind off of the meeting tomorrow. My father said that they were going to take big steps in the war, but what big steps? It most likely meant that You-Know-Who had figured out some way to capture and/or kill Harry Potter.

Harry was the only hope anyone had in winning this war. If he's killed, Voldemort would take over the world. I had to help Potter, but how could I? My hands are tied. If I help him, I'll be killed, but if I don't, Harry would be killed instead. Who would lead the resistance then? If I remembered correctly, they were called the Order of the Phoenix, and I thought that Dumbledore was a part of it, too. Both of their leaders would be dead if Voldemort's plan succeeded, and Harry's two friends would most likely lay their lives on the line to protect him and die doing so. No one would be left.

Except for me.


	23. Chapter 23

I watched the sunrise out of my window. I didn't sleep the entire night. I might have dozed for a few minutes here or there throughout the night, but I never truly slept. I was too stressed. My anxiety was wearing down my mind, and my hand refused to stop shaking.

It was maybe seven in the morning when the door behind me clicked open. I glanced over my shoulder and saw my father stumble in through the doorway. He tripped over something I couldn't see and fell into the door, making it hit the wall with a bang.

"T-the oth-ther Death Eaters a-are arriving," he slurred.

I turned around on my sheets to face him and checked his hands. Sure enough, there was a glass filled to the brim with liquor. My heart sank. Why was he drinking again? I understood that he was stressed, but why did he have to drink again? What could I do to help him? He would hurt me if I tried.

"Well?" Lucius demanded. "Are you coming or not?"

"Just let me get dressed," I muttered, rising from my bed.

He nodded and gave me an odd look before stumbling away.

I dragged my wand from my nightstand and waved it at the door, making it drift shut.

Despite the fact that all of the Death Eaters were coming, I dressed slowly. I tried to force myself to go faster, but my dread outweighed my fear. Once I left my room, I would be surrounded by murderers and psychopaths who probably all wanted to destroy me for not killing Dumbledore.

Then there was my father. He's a drunk, and anything could set him off. If I ask a question I'm apparently not supposed to, he would choke me, and If I tried to help him by taking away his alcohol, he'll do what he did two nights ago. Lucius was intimidating when I was a child, but I could always tell that he loved me. Now, I'm not so sure. He tortured me with an Unforgivable Curse. What loving father would do that to his son?

I opened my wardrobe's door to reveal my full-length mirror. I grabbed one of my various black ties to match my black suit. I watched myself in the mirror as I tied the Windsor knot around my neck. I was almost done. That fact made my heart race. I breathed deeply to try to calm myself, but as usual, the more I tried to calm myself, the more I was reminded about why I needed to be calm, which made my heart race even more.

I straightened my tie and smoothed out the wrinkles in my suit. I combed out the knots in my white-blond hair with a shaking hand, grabbed my wand and looked myself over in the mirror to be sure I was presentable.

I took one last preparatory breath before pocketing my wand, closing the door of my wardrobe and leaving my room. I let the door slowly fall closed, stalling for time.

I didn't know where we were meeting, but if I had a guess, it would be in the dining room. It's where we met every time for as long as I've been a Death Eater. I took each and every step as slowly as I could, and eventually arrived to the open doors of our dining hall as each Death Eater was taking their seat at the table. I froze outside of the halls, never having seen this many Death Eaters in one place. I had seen many of them by now, but they were always in small groups. Having all of them together was more terrifying than I thought it would be.

"You need to head in, Draco," a woman's voice ordered behind me. I turned my head to find my mother approaching me, her heels clicking softly against the floor. "I know you're scared, but you need to head in," she encouraged softly, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Where've you been?" I questioned quietly. She left me alone with my drunk of a father for months. How could she do that?

A look of guilt flashed across her face. "I couldn't let you see me. I couldn't communicate with you at all. I was ordered."

"And who ordered that?"

"The Dark Lord," she answered. "You may think that he just orders his Death Eaters around, but he knows us. He doesn't know everything about us, but he knows enough. He knows that you're closer with me than your father, and we all watched your father's...decline...I was part of your punishment for not killing Dumbledore."

I nodded but didn't respond otherwise.

"Let's go," Mother whispered with an encouraging smile.

She gently took my hand and led me into the dining room. We made our way through the light chatter of the other Death Eaters and took our seat at the table. My mother gestured for me to take a seat next to my father, who was sitting stiffly with his back pressed hard against the chair. I took nervous note of the drink near his hand as I lowered myself into the chair, my mother taking her seat on the other side of him.

Food was served at random times as we waited out the hours, but eventually every Death Eater had arrived and taken their place at the table except for one.

Two seats remained empty: the head of the table, which was obviously meant for the Dark Lord, and one on the left of the head chair. That one was meant for Snape. He was nowhere to be found. I scanned the face of each Death Eater at the table several times and never spotted him.

I didn't know why I was so anxious to see him. He trained me, tortured me, starved me. But he also saved my life. He let me be a part of Dumbledore's salute after he was killed, but it didn't change the fact that he probably couldn't care less about me. He trained me because he was ordered to. He saved my life because he would have died if he didn't. He was less pressuring than the others because he wasn't around.

"So glad to see you all here," Voldemort's distinctive voice whispered.

We all turned our heads to greet him, but I missed him entirely. All I could see was the woman he had floating beside him. She was on her back and entirely limp. Her arms and legs hung lower than her chest. Her mouth hung open and there were fresh wounds on the side of her head and her chin, blood smearing along her cheek and jaw.

Voldemort waved his wand and forced the woman glide over the table to the other end of the room, Wormtail following close behind her. The woman faced towards us, and Wormtail leaned against one of the pillars near her.

I thought I recognized the woman from school, but I couldn't be sure. If she was from Hogwarts, she must be one of the professors, whose class I never took.

"Feel free to talk amongst yourselves," the Dark Lord invited, placing his bone-shaped wand on the table as he lowered himself into the head chair.

The other Death Eaters resumed their quiet chatter, but my family and I remained silent for the next hour or so.

Footsteps suddenly echoed distantly and drew closer with each second. I glanced towards the staircase that led directly to the foyer, and a moment later, Snape appeared in on the top step. He froze and stared at the woman floating at the end of the room.

"Severus," Voldemort breathed, getting Snape to look at him. "I was beginning to worry you had lost your way. Come. We've saved you a seat." He gestured to the empty seat at his left.

Snape glided slowly across the floor and took his seat.

"You bring news, I trust," Voldemort instantly asked.

"It will happen Saturday next, at nightfall," Snape gradually answered.

"I heard differently, my lord," a Death Eater named Yaxley disagreed. "Dawlish, the Auror, has let slip that the Potter boy will not be moved until the thirtieth of this month. The day before he turns seventeen."

"This is a false trail," Snape forcefully denied. "The Auror Office no longer plays any part in the protection of Harry Potter. Those closest to him believe that we have infiltrated the Ministry."

"Well, they got that right, didn't they?" a man joked, getting all of the Death Eaters-except for my family-to laugh lightly.

"What say you, Paius?" the Dark Lord asked softly.

I glanced at the other end of the table and saw that the long-haired man was entirely silent, a forced smile on his lips. He looked up to Voldemort and took a breath before speaking, as if clearing nerves. "One hears many thing, my lord. Whether the truth is among them is not clear."

"Ha!" Voldemort laughed. "Spoken like a true politician. I think you will prove most useful Paius."

The long-haired man forced another fake smile onto his face, but it quickly disappeared.

"Where will he be taken, the boy," the Dark Lord questioned, turning back to Snape.

"To a safe house," the former professor answered. "Most likely the home of someone in the Order. I'm told it's been given every manner of protection possible. Once there, it will be impractical to attack him."

A woman near me cleared her throat and I looked around my father to find Bellatrix leaning forward in her chair. "My lord. I'd like to volunteer myself for this task. I want to kill the boy."

A shout from Ollivander came from below. He screamed all the time. At first he was silent unless a Death Eater was down in the cellar with him. Later, he screamed whenever possible, calling for help. Now, his screams were rarely heard at all.

"Wormtail!" Voldemort yelled. "Have I not spoken to you about keeping our guest quiet!"

"Yes, my lord. Right away, my lord," the nervous man muttered, racing off towards the cellar.

"As inspiring as I find your bloodlust, Bellatrix," the Dark Lord resumed, looking back to my aunt, "I must be the one to kill Harry Potter."

Bellatrix instantly shrank back into her chair, lowering her head as if ashamed. Or afraid. Her crazed mane of black hair concealed her face.

"But I face an unfortunate complication," Voldemort continued, taking his wand from the table and rising from his seat. "That my wand and Potter's share the same core." He moved around the back of his chair to the side of the table my family and I sat. "They are, in some ways, twins. We can wound but not fatally harm one another." He slowly lowered his wand back to the table. "If I am to kill him, I must do it with another's wand."

The Dark Lord slowly began to pace behind the chairs on our side of the table. I tensed when he got close, though I forced it not to show.

"Come. Surely one of you would like the honor," Voldemort uttered, my heart racing as I saw his pale hand grasp the my chair out of the corner of my eye.

At last he moved on from us and glided passed the other nervous Death Eaters.

When still no one answered, Voldemort walked back to me and my family, pausing between me and my distant and sick-looking father. "What about you, Lucius?" he hissed.

My father's eyes finally focused, and he glanced up at Voldemort who grasped the back of his chair. "My lord?"

"'My lord?'" Voldemort mocked. "I require your wand." He stretched out his long-fingered hand in request, his palm open towards my father.

My father tensed and his mouth twitched like he wanted to say something, but he quickly lost his fire. He lifted his walking stick and grasped the silver snake head at the end of it. Both of his hands trembled as he drew his wand. He held it out to the Dark Lord who quickly took it from him.

Voldemort held it for a moment, studying it. "Do I detect elm?"

"Yes, my lord," Father quietly answered. He looked so terrified and ill that I felt terrible for him. He didn't look like the drunk who hit me with a glass the other night. He looked like a broken man that couldn't take any more.

Voldemort took the wood of the wand in his other hand and snapped off the decorative silver handle, making both me and my father jump. "And the core?" he questioned.

"Dragon," my father muttered weakly before clearing his throat and continuing in a stronger voice. "Dragon heartstring, my lord."

"Dragon heartstring," Voldemort repeated.

There was a moment of tense silence before the Dark Lord carelessly tossed Father's silver snake head onto the wooden table. My father jumped as it clattered, staring at what used to be attached to his wand.

Voldemort waved my father's wand towards the injured woman floating at the end of the table, bringing her forward. "For those of you who don't know, we are joined to night by Miss Charity Burbage, who-until recently-taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Her specialty was Muggle Studies," the Dark Lord continued, getting the Death Eaters to chuckle quietly as he began to move back to his seat. "It is Miss Burbage's belief that Muggles are not so different from us. She would, given her way, have us mate with them."

The Death Eaters laughed openly at the information, and a few mockingly gagged in disgust.

I didn't understand what was so funny or disgusting about getting married to a Muggle. It was a little odd, but it wasn't terrible. They can still have a child of magic, so what was the problem? Well, there was the social class issue, but there wasn't anything else that I could think of.

"To her, the mixture of magical and Muggle blood is not an abomination but something to be encouraged," Voldemort explained, as he lowered himself back into his chair.

"Severus," Burbage muttered, surprising me. She looked too weak to talk. "Severus, please," she begged as Snape stared back at her blankly. "We're friends."

Voldemort glanced at Snape before raising my father's wand and mercilessly shouting, "Avada Kedavra!"

The flash of green light made me jump, and the thud of Professor Burbage's body made my heart clench. I gulped as I stared at her unmoving body. Her eyes remained open, and there was still a fear and pain-induced tear sliding down her cheek.

I saw Dumbledore's body after Snape killed him, but he was far away from me, and his eyes were closed. I had never been this close to the body of someone who had died. It was horrifying. She looked like a limp rag doll, but at the same time, she looked too life-like to be any such thing. Her eyes were the worst part. They were so dark, like black holes. There was no light in them. They almost didn't look human.

"Nagini," Voldemort cooed. "Dinner."

The Death Eaters retracted their hands and placed them in their laps as the thick, hissing snake slithered across the table. I tensed as it passed, but it didn't even glance at me as it focused on Charity's body sprawled on the table a few feet from me.

The snake coiled for a moment, its forked tongue repeatedly slipping out of its mouth. Nagini suddenly launched its powerful body at the former professor, its fangs jutting out of its gaping mouth.

The snake latched itself onto Charity's head and slowly consumed her, it's fang's opening hundred's of non-bleeding wounds on her skin. Its muscles flexed with each swallow, and the more the creature swallowed, the less remained of the professor.

My stomach churned like hasn't had since last summer. I wanted to look away from the disgusting scene, but I couldn't. Someone here had to watch her go. Someone who actually cared that she was going at all.

It only took the large snake a few minutes to consume Charity Burbage. Her body formed a large lump in the center of the snake. The creature rested its head on the table as if the effort of eating its...dinner...had exhausted it.

"We will ambush him the night he is moved," Voldemort breathed, getting me to tear my attention away from the snake.

"They will move him at night from his house on 4 Privet Drive in Little Winging," Snape provided.

The Dark Lord nodded. "We will reconvene here a few hours before he his moved. Draco? Do you still have the Trace on you?"

I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. "No, sir," I answered, forcing my voice to steady. "It broke yesterday."

"Good," Voldemort whispered. "We can have everyone's help. Well, everyone except for Lucius," he laughed, getting the rest of the Death Eaters to chuckle in agreement. "We will dismiss for the evening."

The Death Eaters rose from the table and slowly made their way to the doors of the dining hall. I rose with my parents and followed them out of the doors. We stood by the front door and said goodbye to each Death Eater. I numbly offered my hand to each of them as my parents did. They shook my hand briefly before leaving.

When Snape walked up to me he grasped my hand and lingered for a while, giving me a look I couldn't decipher. After a moment, the new Headmaster shook his head before leaving with the rest of the Death Eaters.

When finally the last of them had left, Mother closed the door after them and turned to me. "Why don't you head up to bed, Draco. It's late."

I nodded and gladly retreated to the relative safety of my room. I locked the door behind me and fell into bed, not caring that I was still in a suit.

Miss Burbage's death had not stopped replaying in my mind since it happened, and in addition to that, I was being forced to attack Harry and his friends. I would undoubtedly be watched. I would have to throw a few Killing Curses at least. I could miss on purpose and say that they dodged it, but I could still get caught. It depended on how he was moved. They could be too easy to miss or too easy to hit.

My mind drifted in and out of sleep, and I dreamt of Professor Burbage and the impending ambush. They were terrifying images of death and war that I didn't know my mind contained:

_I murdered Potter, Weasley and Granger, Nagini consuming each of their bodies for dinner._

_I didn't kill anyone, but I witnessed the massacre of Potter and every single one of his friends. Then the Death Eaters turned to me and brutally killed me because I refused to take part in it._

_My father tortured me with a Cruciatus Curse until I ended up exactly like Longbottom's parents._

I woke up shaking and covered in cold sweat after each nightmare, and eventually, I gave up on sleep all together.


	24. Chapter 24

The week leading up to the ambush was torturous. Not only did I have to continue bringing food to Ollivander-who was looking worse than ever-but I didn't sleep and I barely ate. I couldn't bring myself to eat, and my mind was too troubled by what was to come to let me rest. The moment I closed my eyes, I had a vision of my father trying to kill me, and if I slept any deeper, I had even worse nightmares of me killing others, so I wasn't sure if I should be relieved or terrified when the Saturday of the ambush came.

But I decided on terrified when my mother approached me with a dark cloak and a silver mask the afternoon before we took off.

"You've got to put these on before the other Death Eaters arrive," she told me. "At least the cloak. You don't have to put on the mask until the ambush."

I didn't take them. It took all I had to not recoil in disgust at the items.

"Draco," she sighed, warning in her voice, "I know the thought of ambushing the Order is intimidating, but you have to do it. We all have to…Except your father."

"I assume that he's in no state to come," I spat, my hand automatically going to the cheek Lucius cut with his glass a few nights ago.

My mother looked at me pointedly. "Did he do something?"

"No," I quickly answered. "I'll just go put these on in my room." I took the cloak and mask from my mother and rushed up to my room, avoiding any further talk of my father.

I threw the dark robe and shining mask onto my bed and closed the door, locking it behind me.

The sun was setting. The Death Eaters were almost here. A few more hours, and they would start arriving. They all seemed anxious to start the ambush, so they'll arrive quickly. An hour or two from then, and we would fly off to Potter's house.

I would miss on purpose. I refuse to kill anyone.

Unless a Death Eater is on the other end of my Curse.

But I had to make it look like I was trying during the ambush.

Either way, I had to wear that cloak and mask. The uniform of a true Death Eater.

This was a mistake.

"Draco! Let's go! They've started arriving!" my mother's faint voice called.

My breathing grew shaky as I grasped the hem of the dark robe with my trembling hand. I squeezed my eyes shut, and quickly pulled the cloak over my clothes. Once the hood of the robe flattened my hair, I opened my eyes again.

My heart danced as I took the mask from my bed. I didn't have to wear this yet. Right now, I'm just wearing a robe. Nothing more. I couldn't think of the cloak as a Dark Mark, though it practically was. If I though of it like that, I wouldn't be able to do this.

I left my room and arrived in the dining room much faster than I would have liked. Most of the Death Eaters were already there. Many of them held brooms at the ready, and there were spares leaning up against the walls.

"There you are," Mother sighed. "You took a while. I was starting to get worried."

"Sorry," I muttered halfheartedly.

"Are you ready?" a low voice slurred.

I turned to the side to find my father standing unsteadily and leaning heavily on his walking stick.

I didn't respond.

Lucius glanced at Mother, who nodded and walked off to talk to a group of other Death Eaters.

My father approached me slowly and leaned down to my height.

"Your first battle is always frightening," he softly began, "but you have nothing to be afraid of."

My chest tensed painfully with his words. His breath still reeked of alcohol, but is was much less potent. He looked like my father. My real father who held me until I lost consciousness during training.

"I don't want to kill anyone," I sighed, the words coming out of me before I could stop them. "And I don't want to die."

"And neither of those things will happen." I gave him a confused look. "You just have to weaken them. Then you can let everyone else finish them off, and as for you getting killed, you know enough about magic to prevent that. And you have the other Death Eaters. We protect each other," he encouraged softly, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

Why was he speaking like this? He hasn't spoken to me since the letter he sent me while I was in the hospital.

Something foreign made my mouth twitch upwards in the corner. "You're sober," I whispered, not realizing that I had said the words aloud.

Father's hand tensed so much that it was almost painful. I winced, and he instantly let go. He looked down at me with a mixture of fear and confusion before bowing his head and leaving the dining room.

After a minute or two, a distinctive and chilling voice cut through the Death Eater's chatter. "Is everyone ready?"

My mother appeared at my side as I glanced towards the dining room doors to confirm that it was who I thought.

"Good," Voldemort dismissed. "Everyone choose a broom and meet at the front gate in five minutes."

Mother turned to face me, and I noticed the two brooms gripped in her hand. One was standard but fast and the other was the one I hardly ever use anymore.

She held the brooms out to me, and I took the black-handled Nimbus 2001 from her. The green and black straw had gotten a bit frayed on the ends, but it was still in excellent condition.

"Are you ready?" she asked, scanning me for something.

"Nope," I answered simply and followed the other Death Eaters streaming out to the front of the estate.

We stood in a rigid, grid pattern, and a voice far towards the front commanded, "Brooms at the ready!"

I didn't know who the voice belonged to, but I followed everyone else as they put on their silver masks and raised their brooms in their right hands. I glanced at mine. It was shaking. It was almost constant now. There was no stopping it.

The others straddled their brooms and I did the same. There was no instruction for take off, but each line of Death Eaters in front of me lifted from the ground and launched into the sky.

I followed my row and flew through the sky. We stayed in the same rigid formation during the entire flight, and by the time we reached Little Winging, the sun had set and thick cloud cover was moving in.

I couldn't shake a feeling of dread that encroached on me. My hand wouldn't stop trembling even as I drew my wand. The mask was suffocatingly tight on my nose and mouth.

An animal that I've never heard before cried out. It was high-pitched and smooth, like a musical note. A second later, a large, bat-winged horse broke through the clouds. I jumped at the sight of it, having never seen the animal before, but I quickly recovered when I spotted Harry on the back of it along with a man with a scar and long red hair. I had to get to him before the others did.

But I was prevented from getting to him when a broom tore through the cloud cover with Mad-Eye Moody and a second Potter. I froze. There were two of them. More brooms and bat-like animals broke through the clouds, revealing more pairs of people, one of them always Potter.

Smart. No one could tell which was the real Harry, but that would mean that we would have to either kill or capture them all.

I picked a random Potter on a broom with who I thought was Professor Lupin and chased him through the flashes of green and blue. Screams of anger and fear rang almost as loudly as the bangs of spells. I threw a Killing Curse at the Harry on the back of the broom, purposefully missing. Potter gave me an odd look and answered my Curse with a stunning spell.

I raised my wand and blocked the spell, my wrist beginning to burn. Voldemort was coming.

Quickly glancing around, I spotted a black mist racing towards us.

I threw another curse at the Harry I was following, blasting his ear off the side of his head.

I zoomed off before You-Know-Who could get to me. He saw. He saw me take Potter's ear off. He couldn't punish me for not trying.

Every Potter seemed to have one or more Death Eater on him. I didn't know where to turn to. Everything was so loud and confusing.

A hot and loud blast of fire lit the clouds, and I turned to see some kind of flying machine race towards the ground with two Death Eaters on its tail.

I quickly followed after them, staying above the battle. This machine had another Harry Potter seated with Hagrid, and this Potter didn't seem to be casting many spells.

"Expelliarmus!" Potter shouted, sending a Death Eater's wand crashing to the ground.

Harry was always the best at disarming charms, and no one but him would disarm someone in the middle of a life or death battle.

Harry and Hagrid flew into a tunnel filled with Muggle vehicles. I hovered above the tunnel and waited for them to come out of the other side. Eventually, Potter and Hagrid came out, and they weren't followed. I had to get to him. Maybe we could get each other out of this.

I raced towards them, but found my way blocked. A screeching white owl flew towards my masked face and scraped at the silver material. This was definitely the real Harry Potter. His white owl wouldn't protect anyone else.

I was prepared to fly around it when my wrist burned again. Why did he always have to come? Why did he ruin my only chance at getting out of this?

I cast a Killing Curse at the owl, making it look like it got in the way. It screeched before going limp and falling out of the sky.

The burning in my Mark intensified to a terrible peak, forcing me to back away. Potter glided further and further away, taking my last chance with him. And I would likely never see him again.

A faint, pained scream echoed from the direction that Harry flew as a thick black mist quickly passed me by.

_Go back to the others over Potter's house._

I jumped at the voice. I knew whose it was, and that only made it more disturbing.

I sluggishly turned my broom around and started to fly back to the others, but a harsh and angered shout made me jump. It didn't sound like Potter's.

He must have failed. Potter got away. He had to.

An almost unfamiliar emotion tugged the corners of my mouth upwards as I resumed my flight.


	25. Chapter 25

The flight back home was entirely silent, and the number of Death Eaters did not dwindle from when we left.

At least Harry got away from him, but even that didn't seem to be an entirely good thing.

I covered my head with my pillow to try to muffle the screams. I hadn't seen Voldemort since the ambush, but Ollivander had not stopped screaming since I had gotten home. He never stopped for breath, and it didn't seem like he was going to stop any time soon.

I couldn't take it anymore. How long could Voldemort torture someone? Was it out of anger for not capturing Harry, or a preparation for when he did?

It was around one in the morning when everything finally quieted. I held my breath, doubting that it had stopped for good.

But after a minute had passed without sound, I gave myself permission to relax. I slumped down on my bed, though I didn't want to sleep. I would have nightmares filled with battles and screaming, so I got off of my mattress and reached under my bed. I pulled out a radio and blew off some of the stale cobwebs, coughing slightly as I accidentally inhaled some of the dust.

I placed the radio on my bedside table and sat back down on my bed. I flicked the switch on the front of the device, and it blinked to life. Static emitted from the speakers, and it squealed as the dile spun. I scrolled through the channels, hoping that whatever popped up would be enough to take my mind off of this current situation and allow me to sleep. Music and news-both from the Wizarding and the Muggle Worlds-clicked by. I lingered on each one for a second or two before changing over to the next frequency, everything sounding like more of an annoyance than a help.

"We have received report that Lightning has struck the Burrows."

I paused at the voice coming through the speakers. It sounded like that Dean boy from Gryffindor.

"And it sounds like they're celebrating a wedding there," another familiar voice added. Dean's friend, maybe?

The two continued for a while. I didn't know exactly what they were talking about because I tuned in half-way through the broadcast, but it sounded like Dean and his friend dedicated the channel to the Second Wizarding War, delivering reports of the dead and someone they kept calling "Lightning." I figured that they meant Potter. Who else would have such a code name?

My exhaustion finally caught up with me as Dean's and his friend's voices drowned out the resuming sound of Ollivander's tortured cries. I laid my head down on my pillow, overjoyed when I found that I didn't feel the need to toss and turn. Eventually, their voices faded and I was asleep.

* * *

The next day, I was forced to bring food to Ollivander like normal, but every part of me trembled with trepidation. You-Know-Who might still be in there.

Wormtail let me into the cellar without a word and locked the barred door behind me. "Mister Ollivander?" I called.

I received no response, and that scared me more than seeing the possible state he was in. I took careful steps forward, squinting in the low light. After a few steps, my foot came into contact with something soft, and a quiet grunt answered.

I jumped slightly, and had to double my grip on the food tray to avoid spilling anything. Once I managed to steady myself, I glanced down and found a human silhouette huddled on the floor. I bent down slowly and quietly placed the food tray on the floor. I drew my wand and lit the tip of it, dispelling the shadows around the figure. The man jumped and lifted his head to face me, groaning as he did so.

"Mister Ollivander?" I breathed, covering up my shock with a whisper.

He was covered in blood and bruises. His skin was littered with wounds that might not heal without magical help. "Draco?" he croaked.

"Yes," I muttered. "I-I've brought you some food."

"Thank you, Draco," he strained, his voice somehow sounding even weaker than before.

The older man grunted as he attempted to sit up, but it was clear that he was unable to do so alone. I straightened up and gently grabbed his arm with my free hand. I helped Ollivander raise himself up and leaned him onto a nearby pillar. Once I made sure that he was steady, I released his arm and retrieved the food tray from the floor. I placed the tray at his feet and stood back up.

I was unsure if I should leave him. He looked so weak. He needed a healer, but it's not like I knew where to get one without getting punished.

Ollivander reached for the small cup of water with a shaking hand. His hand trembled so much that he could barely hold it.

I glanced behind me and found that Wormtail was fixed rigidly at his post. He stared ahead, his back to the door. I swallowed deeply, silencing my nerves, and reached down and carefully taking hold of Ollivander's injured hand. I knelt beside him on the stone floor and helped him press the tin cup to his lips. He gulped down the water like it was the last he would ever drink. "Careful," I warned, slowly taking the cup away from the man. "You're going to choke yourself."

Ollivander panted slightly before uttering in a clearer voice, "Thank you, Draco."

The gate to the cellar clanged open, and I instantly stood, reciting  _Knox_  in my mind to dim my wand.

"What's taking so long, Malfoy?" Pettigrew demanded, poking his head through the gap in the door. "Your family is about to have lunch."

"Nothing," I hastily answered. "I was just heading out."

Pettigrew shoved the door open to allow me through. I forced myself to stare straight ahead as I left the cellar. I feared that if I glanced back at Ollivander, I would stay and help him.

* * *

My family and I ate lunch in silence. My sickly father sat at the head of the table, his food hardly touched with a half-drunk glass of wine. My mother and aunt Bellatrix sat near each other, tense and quiet. The meal was soup and sandwiches, and I ate as silently as the rest of them, hardly tasting a bite.

"The Dark Lord wants to attack Potter again," Bellatrix said loudly, shattering the silence like glass. "Trouble is we don't know where he is, now."

"Like Snape said," my father added, "he's at the home of someone in the Order."

"Yes, but which home?" my aunt countered.

I tensed as I remembered the radio station I had found last night. " _We have received report that Lightning has struck the Burrows."_ Wasn't that what they called Weasley's house?

"Are you alright, Draco?" Mother's voice asked.

I glanced up at her. "I'm fine. Why?"

"Your hand is shaking." She gestured to my right hand.

I looked down at my hand and found that it was trembling like it normally does.

Bellatrix eyed me curiously and leaned forward, pushing her food out of the way. "Do you know something, Draco?" she whispered threateningly.

"No," I answered firmly, straining to keep my voice steady. I withdrew my hand from the table and straightened my posture. "I have no idea where he is."

"How on Earth could he know where Potter is, sister?" my mother interrupted.

"Draco," my father gently said, sounding more like my father than he had in a long time. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "If you do know something, you need to tell us, now. Our family are the only ones in the house currently, so if you tell us now, we can resolve the matter privately. The Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters wouldn't need to know."

My shoulders automatically sagged at the softness in his voice. My lips parted and the answer almost slipped out, but I quickly shut them again.

The outcome of this War was more important than my relationship with my father. Especially since he had destroyed any remnant of our relationship the moment he started drinking.

"Do you know anything?" Bellatrix demanded, the threatening blood-lust in her eyes growing more intense by the second.

My muscles coiled, and I swallowed the answer down again, meeting her gaze.

"What do you know?" she shouted, lunging at me from across the table.

She grabbed the collar of my shirt, dragged me out of my chair and threw me to the floor. My head hit the boards, making my ears ring.

"Bellatrix!" Mother yelled. A chair scraped the floor, dishes rattling on the table as she stood.

"Get out of here, Narcissa," my father said.

"Lucius…" Mother warned.

"I said, get out of here." My father came slowly entered my blurred field of vision. He leaned closer to Bellatrix and whispered, "If you're going to do this, take him to a more private room in case anyone shows up unannounced."

My aunt didn't say anything in answer, but she smirked and gazed down at me, her wild mane of hair covering her eyes.

Lucius walked away without giving me even a glance. Several steps stumbled as they retreated. My heart hammered against my chest. Maybe I should give her the answer now, and spare myself whatever my insane family member had planned.

Bellatrix backed away a few steps and trained her curved wand on me. She waved the instrument, something invisible wrapping itself around me like a snake. I struggled out of the hold, but it only got tighter. She lifted her wand and levitated me a few feet above the ground. She turned her back to me and marched from the room, making me float alongside her like Charity Burbage beside Voldemort.

Lestrange guided me with her wand, floating me into one of our libraries. She lowered her wand, and I fell hard onto the ground, the air instantly leaving my lungs. Whatever force that had wrapped around me, released its hold as the door slammed shut and clicked, locking it.

My aunt turned to me, an intense and frightening smirk on her lips. My chest tightened painfully, my stomach turning to knots as she approached me, her heels slapping against the stone floor. "You are going to tell me Potter's location," she hissed, raising her wand and aiming it at me.

I scrambled away from her until my back pressed into an unyielding bookshelf. I reached into my pocked and snatched up my own wand. I instantly aimed it at her, but she quickly flicked her wand, throwing mine out of reach.

I didn't see her wave her wand or hear her recite any curse. Her hungered eyes flashed wildly, and I was overwhelmed with pain, like I was dipped in acid. The world disappeared, and I was left alone, drifting in an inescapable world of pain.

"Where is he?" Bellatrix screeched. "Where is Potter?"

_We have received report that Lightning has struck the Burrows._

I clamped my mouth shut, forcing myself to stop screaming. I couldn't tell her or anyone. They would not only kill Potter but anyone that stood in their way. The War would be instantly lost; but the pain was somehow pushing the answer steadily towards my mouth. The words created so much pressure in my throat that it was like I had swallowed a stone.

The barrage of torture abruptly ended, and I gasped for air, only to be choked off by a hand wrapped around my neck. I instinctively grabbed the slim hand and tried to pry it away. It was obvious that Bellatrix was the one choking me, but she reminded me too much of my father.

"You  _will_  tell me where he is," she harshly whispered into my ear.

The answer, once again, bubbled up into my mouth, but I shoved it back down.

A sharp pain embedded itself into my hand, forcing me to let go of Lestrange's writs. The hand wrapped around my throat grew impossibly tight, and the sharp pain in my hand gradually slid up my arm, coming dangerously close to slitting my wrist. I started to slip away into unconsciousness, and I pleaded that the darkness would come sooner, so I wouldn't have to feel her hurt me.

"The Burrows?" she exclaimed excitedly, releasing my neck, but I hardly heard her in my gasping for breath. "Where are the Burrows?" she questioned.

I opened my eyes and found her staring down at me with that same, bloodthirsty smirk. What did she mean? I didn't say anything. I couldn't have.

Bellatrix tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips with mocking pity. "You did tell me, Draco. You might not remember, but that's how it usually goes. They make the determination to not say a word, but then the pain becomes a bit too much, and they black out and tell. Don't be ashamed. Happens to everyone!" she cooed. "Never heard of it happening to a Malfoy, though." She trailed off and was silent for a moment before leaning closer to me. "Where's the Burrows?" she whispered.

"I don't know," I croaked. The world started to fade, and I willingly went with it, glad to sleep without dreaming.

"Oh, no, you don't," Bellatrix hissed, the stinging pain in my arm returning.

I cried out and snapped my eyes open, straining to get away from the pain, but Lestrange had me pinned to the floor.

"Where. Is. The Burrows?" she repeated, but I had nothing else to give. Nothing else to make the pain end.

"I don't know," I said through clenched teeth.

"Yes, you do," she muttered harshly, the stinging becoming even worse as it traveled up my arm. "You have to know something more."

I hissed as the pain passed my elbow.

"Is it a location?" she questioned calmly. "Or someone's house?"

Lestrange gasped at something and exclaimed, "So it  _is_  someone's house? Whose?"

I made a point about keeping my mouth sealed. Maybe I told her that Potter was at the Burrows, but they didn't know where that was. Potter and everyone there would still live if I kept my mouth shut.

"Whose. House. Draco?" A small amount of panic in her voice this time.

The stinging pain in my arm abruptly left, the sharp tip of a cold blade pressed against my throat quickly replacing it.

When I remained silent, the blade cut into my neck slightly, my determination to keep the answer inside of myself faltering. If I told her, the most important people in this War would die, and if I didn't, she would slit my throat.

I closed my eyes, cementing my decision not to tell her. In all honesty, the thought of Bellatrix slitting my throat didn't make me as afraid as it should.

But one small flick of the blade renewed my fear enough to force the answer out of me.

"Weasley's house?" Bellatrix gasped. "Why, thank you, Draco. You have served your Dark Lord well."

The blade left my neck, and her heels clicked distantly.

"I'll let your parents know, and we will inform the Dark Lord together soon," she called from where I thought the door was.

After a moment, the door opened and feel closed, and I was left alone again. Why was I still alive? I was determined not to answer her, and I thought my silence would have been enough to make her kill me, but it didn't matter anymore. It was done. I had told her information that I wasn't even sure was true, and people were going to die.

I rested on the floor for who knows how long, giving myself a reprieve. I was unbearably exhausted and bleeding. I hadn't looked at the wound on my arm, so I didn't know how bad it was, but stung horribly.

Eventually, I managed to push myself up from the floor and lean against the nearby chair. I glanced down at my bleeding arm and found that the sleeve of my blazer and shirt were torn from the wrist up to the elbow, and there was a long, red gash extending from the palm of my hand , wrapping around the Dark Mark and up to the crook of my elbow. Something slid slowly down my neck, and I reached up to wipe it off. I inspected my hand and found blood smeared on the tips of my fingers.

She had come so close to killing me.


	26. Chapter 26

I was in a library. One of my father's libraries at that. Lucius never enjoyed reading fiction, so there was bound to be something to help me in these books.

I scanned the spines of the books resting on the shelves and found nothing until I searched higher up on the shelves. Far out of my reach was a book about healing spells. I was too weak to get to it unless I used my wand.

I glanced around me and found it lying several feet away from me. I turned towards the chair I was leaning against and placed my uninjured arm on the cushion. I leaned towards it and tried to push myself up, but white-hot bolt of pain forced me back down. I slipped on the slick floor and fell onto my back. I groaned as my bleeding arm pulsed and burned as it hit the floorboards.

I craned my neck around as far as I could, hissing as the wound in my neck stretched and stung. I spotted my wand, carefully turned onto my stomach and used my good arm to pull myself towards it. My legs refused to work properly, so I was entirely dependent on one arm, which quickly began to ache and burn.

Whatever Bellatrix did to me must have been more than just a Cruciatus Curse.

After what felt like an eternity, my fingertips finally grazed the handle of my wand, and I instantly dragged it towards me, flooding with relief.

I pushed myself onto my back, short of breath and sweating, somehow even more exhausted than I was before. I had to wait several minutes before I could gather the strength to lift my wand towards the book I spotted earlier and mutter "Accio". Once it had floated within arm's reach, I instantly lowered my wand arm back to the floor, the book clattering down with me.

I had to rest for several minutes before I could use my shaking limbs to force myself to sit up. I crossed my legs and dragged the book into my lap and flipped it open to the table of contents, skimming over the chapters. There was one about healing deep wounds, so I turned the pages until I found the chapter and pleaded that I would be able to understand what it said.

The spell was "Vulnera Sanentur." A faint memory came to the forefront of my mind from when Snape saved my life in the lavatory after Potter and I fought. Wasn't that the spell that Snape used?

It didn't matter. Even if it wasn't, it would still help me.

Following the book's instructions, I carefully cleared the loose fabric out of the way of the gash on my arm and held the tip of my wand above it. I muttered the spell over and over again, slowly waving my wand over the gash. The blood dripping down my arm slowly retreated back into the cut, and the slit in my skin gradually sealed itself, leaving a thin, deep line where the injury used to be. The site of the wound still throbbed, but the pain had lessened significantly, and I was more awake than before.

I glanced down at the book and skimmed over the page, making sure I cast the spell correctly. It said that there shouldn't even be a scar left from the wound, but I got it close enough. A footnote on the page said that less practiced spell casters might leave a scar. At least I did it correctly.

As for the cut on my neck, it didn't seem too deep. That area is highly sensitive, so Bellatrix couldn't have cut me too deeply without slitting my throat. Maybe just a bandage?

I quickly flipped back to the table of contents and scanned it for something similar to what I had in mind. Eventually, I found the "Episkey" spell that could be used to heal minor injuries like split lips or small broken bones. As I followed the followed the book's instructions, the tip of my wand glowed a pale blue. I brought the glowing instrument near where I thought the wound on my neck was and after I held it there for a moment or two, whispered, "Episkey." It didn't even take a second for something to slither out of my wand and onto my neck, gently placing itself over the cut. Once the glow faded from the tip of my wand, I lowered it to the floor and carefully prodded the site of the cut. I found that the wound had healed over, skin replacing blood.

These spells were...light. They filled me with energy rather than making sick to my stomach. It was an odd feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys liked Chapter One. Chapter Two will come next week! Thanks for reading!


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